


Baby Spinach

by dotYoo



Series: Leafy Greens [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Found Families, and then very good parenting, baby bones, science isn't everything, very bad parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-10-16 02:40:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10562030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotYoo/pseuds/dotYoo
Summary: Doctor W.D. Gaster finds two skeleton children in a bush.A take on what happened to the core, and why Sans and Papyrus look so human.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A fun idea between me and [Jinny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JinnytheKisaragi). Archived at [Spinach Productions](spinach-productions.tumblr.com), updates on Fridays!

_199x: a monster child quietly eases a door closed behind him.  Once he’s satisfied he hasn’t raised any alarms, he walks across the dark room to a crib in the far corner._

_The skeletal baby inside watches him with interest._

_Sans leans over the railing and picks at his non-existent fingernails.  “I figured it out,” he says smugly, “We don’t need you anymore.  You’ll be back where you came from as soon as I figure out how to take you apart.”_

_The baby kicks off his blankets and makes a cooing noise._

_“Shh,” Sans hisses.  He pokes the baby’s stomach to quiet it down._

_The baby giggles and grabs the finger with both tiny hands.  He inspects it carefully from several different angles.  Sans, feeling magnanimous, allows this; when he doesn’t pull back, the baby stuffs the finger into his mouth._

_Sans makes a face.  “Gross.  Stop.”_

_The baby doesn’t let go.  It takes a minute of gentle wrestling for Sans to get his hand back, and it’s covered in baby drool.  The baby seems to think this is absolutely hilarious and laughs uproariously._

_“Shh,” Sans says again, drawing the blanket over the baby’s shoulders in an attempt to calm it._

_“Sss,” the baby repeats back at him._

 

-

 

W.D. Gaster’s current form is five-foot-eleven and weighs approximately forty pounds, depending on whether or not he’s remember to eat recently.  He likes wearing turtlenecks and lab coats, even when they’re not appropriate or seasonal, because he doesn’t have the time or inclination to figure out another form of dress.  He has a hairline crack running down one side of his face that he’s been meaning to repair for some time, and keeps misplacing his hands when he’s focused on something else.  Once he’s realized they’re missing, it’s easy enough to send out tendrils of magic to reattach them, but he likes to keep a few extra pairs in his desk for when he doesn’t have time to find them.

He is head of the royal laboratory, hired by the King himself, where he specializes in energy conservation and storage.  Gaster likes to personally sign off on all reports about technology and magic (and read a few of his colleagues' papers before they're sent for publication, just for fun), which is why he has a stack of papers held at eye-level as he walks home on a darkened evening.  He takes the route home that requires the least amount of attention for this exact reason.

“Careful, doctor,” his assistant had said teasingly as he prepared to go home for the day, handing him the bag of papers and leftovers he'd almost left behind, “You're going to get hurt if you don't pay attention to where you’re going.  Make sure you watch out for the construction on Fourth.”

Gaster waves him off.  He knows every step of the path forwards and backwards, just like he knows exactly who uses this route at this time of day.  He knows when to when to speed up to avoid getting stuck at the Main and Market crosswalk and when take a step to the side so a delivery person can go by.  Everything is perfectly avoidable, and he can predict everything that will happen because he's seen all these things before.

Unfortunately, some things can't be predicted.  Like construction on Fourth street leaving behind small particles of debris for Gaster to trip over.  He staggers over the curb and straight into the decorative bushes lining the road.

And finds a pair of startled blue eyes staring at him from between the branches.

And is violently jettisoned back out of the bush?

That, Gaster thinks as he sails through the air back into the street, is not what he was expecting.  He takes a moment to review this new information as he crashes into the asphalt and his various papers explode out of his arms and the streetlight buzzes in the presence of a magic surge strong enough to interrupt the illumination, and a small figure bursts out of the hedge.

“Wait,” Gaster calls, “Look out for—” 

The figure trips over the same rock. 

He manages to spin mid-air to land on his back and skid gracelessly into the same circle of light Gaster is currently occupying, giving him a good look at the unexpected powerful monster he just found in a bush.  He tilts his head to one side, trying to make sense of what he's seeing.  The only things he can definitely say about the monster are that they're short and dirty; they're wearing several layers of clothes all stained in shades of mud.  Beyond that, they seem to be some sort of skeletal monster, but Gaster hasn't seen a bone structure like this before.  Bipedal, two arms, unusually articulated hands clutching a bundle of blankets to their skeletal chest.  He's seen hands like those before.  After a moment of thought, he calls his own hands back from where they’ve skittered across the pavement.  The joints seem to match in number and placement.  Gaster feels his stomach drop.

These hands were modeled after human hands.  How did this short, dirty skeleton get a pair of human hands?

Speculation will have to wait.  The skeleton is already lurching to his feet, clearly trying to put as much distance between himself and Gaster as possible.

“Wait,” Gaster says again.

This time, he's interrupted by an unhappy noise.  The skeleton's eye flick briefly to the knot of fabric in their arms, and to Gaster's amazement, two more eyes light up from inside the bundle.

“No, shh,” the skeleton says in an extremely young voice.

“You're a child!”  Gaster exclaims, because that explains the height but why the skeleton had enough magic to throw him from a bush or why he may have been modeled after humans.

The bundle makes a quiet, high-pitched noise, then starts to _wail_.

“No, not now,” the skeleton child whines, desperately bouncing the crying thing in the bundle without taking his eyes off Gaster, “Please not now.”

“Excuse me,” Gaster says, brushing a few papers off his coat, “If I may—”

_"_ Don't you come any closer _,_ ” the skeleton child says.  Both his eyes light from the inside, and the streetlamp begins to flicker again.

Gaster plows on anyway.  “I realize it's none of my business, but I've cataloged more than thirty varieties of infant noises, and that sounds like a cry of hunger with undertones of fatigue.”

“No _shit,_ genius,” the child hisses.  He’s given the infant their free hand to gnaw on, which seems to have stopped the crying for now.

“Several studies have proven that it isn't wise to allow an adolescent to go without adequate nutrition for an extended period of time, particularly young infants like you've got there, but I'd be grossly remiss if I didn't point out that you are also probably a young child and therefore require an intake of somewhere between 1000 to 1400 calories per day.”

“ _Shut up_ ,” the child growls.

The light bursts, leaving the skeleton child's eyes as the only source of illumination.  Gaster feels the same blue magic from earlier cascade over his skin.  His papers a thrown upwards and set in some kind of suspension in the air, and Gaster himself is lifted several feet off the ground.

He keeps talking.  “You seem to be acting as guardian for the loud one, so I’m willing to guess that if you don't have enough resources for them, you probably haven't had a decent meal for a while yourself, and while you lack the usual indicators a traditional monster might give, I suspect you're probably also suffering the effects of malnutrition, possibly borderline starvation given that you seem to have been living in a hedge.  Did you know that prolonged lack of nutrients can have lasting effects on physical development?  You seem to be slightly behind the average, but with proper nutrition you may experience an increased velocity of growth in the next few years, which could be upwards of fifteen to twenty percent of your final height and mass.  I believe I have a report on something to that effect here...”  Gaster begins shuffling through the papers hovering around him, collecting things that look like they pertain to nutrition or child rearing.

The skeleton child watches him.  He looks confused and slightly dazed, which is something Gaster often sees when he starts explaining something.

“Hmm, I seem to have packed this one into my bag.  Could you hand it to me?”

The child cocks an eyebrow at him, but the bag floats in Gaster's direction.  He catches it out of the air and riffles through the contents.

“Ah, here we are!  I believe you'll find Mister Colorata's work to be most informative.  Also, here's half a sandwich.  I'd offer you an entire sandwich, but it was my lunch this afternoon and I didn't know we'd be crossing paths today.”

The report and sandwich leave Gaster's hands.  The skeleton child glances over the top page.  “...thanks, I guess.”

“You're welcome to any of the reports I've brought with me, if you don't mind them being slightly out of order,” he says, gesturing to the papers scattered across the area.  “Do you have any particular interests?  I'm currently editing papers on magic containment, advances in communication technology, the latest findings in the field of underground agriculture, the one on adolescent nutrition you're holding there, and a few wacky ideas on number theory that I'm saving for when I need a laugh.”

The child looks at the mess he made.  His eyes are still glowing strongly, but he’s no longer exhibiting aggressive behavior.  “Shouldn't this be classified or something?”

Gaster shrugs and makes an I-don't-know noise.

He seems to think this over for a long moment, tucking the sandwich and the report on nutrition into their largest coat while the infant settles again.  “Do you have anything on the different types of magic?”

Gaster sifts through the papers.  “I don't believe so, but if you're going to be in the area for a while I do have some books I could lend you.”  He runs his own words back and listens to them again.  “A better idea would probably be to invite you to stay on my couch, so you don't have to read them on the street.  I find reading usually requires some kind of light source and you seem to burn out streetlamps.”

The child looks utterly perplexed.   He glances at the streetlight when Gaster gestures towards it.  “What?”

“If you could set me down and help me gather my things, we can move on.”

The child studies Gaster for a long time.  Gaster takes the opportunity to collect the papers he can reach and attempts to reassemble them.  The child watches this.

“Do you have more sandwiches?”  He finally asks.

Gaster thinks this over as he tries to organize a set of unnumbered pages. “I probably could make some more.”

 

-

 

The loud thing in the blanket also seems to be some version of a miniaturized human skeleton.  Gaster assumes that this is what young human bone structure looks like, but has nothing to compare it to since he’s never seen a non-adult human.  He also he no idea why two human skeletons have animated and begun hiding in bushes in the Underground, but these questions get pushed aside when his limited knowledge of hosting kicks in.

“Would you like a hot drink?”  He asks, hanging up his coat and dropping his bag on the couch.

The skeleton child doesn’t answer immediately.  Gaster looks back to find them standing next to the coat rack, taking in the details of his modest apartment.  It has a sitting room, a kitchen, and two bedrooms, one of which is currently used as an office.

“Children like cocoa, don’t they?”  He prompts.

“I don’t know what that is,” the child replies, now examining the loan coat hanging on the rack.

“I’ll make some, and you can decide if you like it.”  Gaster lights the stove sets a pot to boil, then pauses as he remembers one of his guests is probably an infant.  “What do babies eat?”

“I’ve been feeding Paps cat food.  Anything soft will work.”

Gaster remembers reading that babies have exacting dietary needs, and he’s fairly certain cat food won’t meet them.  More than that, feeding a guest cat food is probably rude.  The cupboards are almost bare, but some rummaging in the back of the fridge reveals a cup of applesauce that hasn’t passed its sell-by date.  “Is applesauce good for babies?”

The skeleton child wanders into the kitchen.  “Probably.  Let me see.”  He takes the container in one hand, the other still occupied with the baby.

“Do you want me to hold—”

The light over the sink explodes and Gaster is thrown to the other side of the kitchen.  He doesn’t lose his footing this time, but does have to grab the counter on his way past to keep from slamming into the wall.

“ _No,_ ” says a pair of glowing blue eyes that hover where the child was standing.

Glass shards clink and catch the light of the stove as they rain down into his sink.  Gaster watches them with a frown.  He knows this is a significant development, but since he doesn’t know how what to do with this information, he instead focuses the other problem in the room.  “These lightbulbs are clearly sub-standard.  What’s your output?  I may write a letter of complaint to the company.”

The glow fades.  “Uh.”

“Hold on, let me find something more durable before I clean up.  I think I have a reinforced flashlight somewhere…”

Gaster shoos the child away from the broken glass, then starts rummaging around the kitchen drawers for emergency lighting and a dustpan.  A short cleanup and one pot of boiling water later, he dumps a packet of instant hot chocolate into a mug and finishes it off with a straw.

The child stares at it.

“So you can drink it one handed,” Gaster explains.

He takes the cup.  The baby watches as their guardian takes a tentative sip.

“It’s hot,” the child says.

“It’s a hot drink,” Gaster agrees.

He takes another sip.  “I like it.”

Gaster beams.  “Very good.  Now we have food for you and the loud one.”

“Papyrus,” the child says offhandedly.

“Now we have… Papyrus for you and the loud one?”

The child snorts.  He then coughs a few times and wipes his nose with an arm.  “No, his name is Papyrus.”

“Oh, nice to meet you.”  Gaster says to the smaller skeleton child.  “Tell him I said it’s nice to meet him.”

“He can’t talk yet,” the child says, taking a seat at one of the mismatched kitchen chairs.  He settles the baby in his lap and attacks the applesauce container’s freshness seal.

Papyrus grabs the spoon as soon as it’s close enough.  He shoves it into his mouth and chews on the end.

“Is he teething?”  Gaster asks.  “Do skeletons teeth?”  He amends.

The child shrugs.  “I don’t know what that is.”

“Teething is when an infant’s deciduous teeth begin to erupt through the gums.  Since neither you nor Papyrus seem to have gums, I have to assume there’s an alternative to the teething process.”

The child coaxes the spoon away from Papyrus.  He looks at it for a moment, then picks up the applesauce.  “…my name is Sans,” he says.

“Nice to meet you,” Gaster says.  “Did you teethe?”

“I don’t remember,” Sans replies, feeding another Papyrus another spoonful of applesauce.

Gaster mulls this over.  “I suspect you didn’t, but I didn’t either.  I supposed we’re both outside the normal maturation process.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaster knows very little about children. Children don’t know much more about children than he does.

Sans jolts out of a doze he didn’t mean to take. He doesn't know where he is, something huge is holding him down, it’s hot and he can’t see anything and he _can’t breathe—_

Papyrus makes a snorting noise.

Sans takes a deep breath and pats him a few times. Papyrus is fine, which means Sans is fine. It’s alright because they’re together. 

Yesterday’s memories slowly come back into focus: the guy with detachable hands landed head-first in last night’s safe house and gave them a bed for the night.  Sans isn’t being crushed by responsibility, he’s buried in seven layers of quilts and two sets of bath towels and Papyrus is asleep against his chest.

Sans carefully extracts himself from the mountain of blankets (and towels) and creeps to the door, listening closely for any indication that he was heard.  When the apartment stays quiet, he sets Papyrus on a pillow and starts folding blankets into the smallest volume he can manage. In the end, he grabs as much as he can carry while keeping Papyrus safely bundled in the middle and makes his unsteady way towards the main room.

The guy’s door is closed. The main room is quiet. Sans balances the stack of bedding (which includes three blankets, a pillow, and a skeleton baby) and cautiously edges around the door. He tip-toes across the room, makes his way slowly around the couch, and reaches for the doorknob to the door that leads to the apartment complex’s hallway—

“Good morning!”

Sans screams and startles so badly, the entire pile flies out of his arms.  He manages to grab Papyrus with blue magic, but is still crushed when the avalanche of blankets falls back to the ground. Papyrus, who doesn’t like being woken up at the best of times, starts to cry as he hangs in mid-air; Sans starts fighting his way through the blankets to get to him, shouting reassurances as he digs through mess of fabric. The commotion is loud enough that one set of neighbors starts banging on the shared wall.

Gaster stands in the kitchen doorway wearing an apron over his turtleneck. His sleeves are singed around the edges. He glances at the skillet he’s holding, then back to the shouting mass of children and blankets who are, if the women next door is to be believed, waking up the entire floor in the middle of the goddamn night.

“Do children… not like pancakes?”

  
-

 

There's a clock on the kitchen wall.  It depicts an inaccurate representation of the solar system, with the planets orbiting a sun at the center where the two hands meet.  One of Gaster's coworkers found it at the dump and gave it to him as a birthday gift.  Gaster knows giving a piece of trash as a gift would be extremely rude under different circumstances, but since most of the Underground's natural resources come from human cast-offs, he's more than willing to overlook social protocol as it was in the past.  Plus, the clock gives the kitchen personality.

In this moment, its ticking is the only thing filling the space.  Papyrus is happily chewing on a rolled-up pancake, but Sans is refuses to look up from his own stack.  He hasn't eaten any, which would make Gaster question his cooking ability if it weren't for the terrified energy Sans is giving off.

“I can make something else, if you like?” Gaster offers.

Sans shakes his head.

“Are you not hungry?”

He shakes his head frantically.

Gaster cuts a bite from his own pancakes.  The clock ticks loudly.

“I get the feeling you think I'm angry with you.  Is that correct?” Gaster asks gently.

Sans' shoulders begin to shake.

“Are you alright?”  Gaster says quickly.  “Have I done something wrong? Tell me what happened, I won't—”

“I'm sorry,” Sans says.  He sounds impossibly small.  “I shouldn't have taken the blankets, I won't do it again—”

“Sans, you don't need to apologize.  It's alright.”

Sans looks up sharply.

“I'm not angry.  I didn't need them, and I didn't realize you were unhappy here.  If you want to leave, you're welcome to the blankets, and the pillows if you like.”  Gaster smiles in what he hopes is a reassuring way.

Sans stares at him.  His expression might be comical under different circumstances. “Why aren't you mad?”

“Because... they're just blankets?”

The watch each other.  Gaster gets the impression he's being scrutinized in painstaking detail.  Sans seems to be searching for any sign of dishonesty.  Papyrus, having picked up on the tension and his caretaker’s unease, reaches out and pat Sans' shoulders.

“I like it here,” Sans says slowly, letting Papyrus pat the side of his head.

“I've enjoyed having you here. You are, of course, free to come and go as you like, but your company has been very welcome.” He picks up a napkin and offers it. “Please don't cry.”

Sans touches his face. He seems surprised when his hand comes away wet. “Sorry.”

“You haven't done anything wrong,” Gaster replies as Papyrus continues to pat everything he can reach.

Sans sniffles. He swipes his sleeve across his eyes and blows his nose on the napkin. Gaster takes a moment to wonder exactly how a skeleton creature's nasal mucus membranes work.

“Sorry, got a little carried away there,” Sans says, gathering Papyrus up in his arms and holding him close. Finally given access, Papyrus reaches up to pat his face.

“You don't need to apologize for that either,” Gaster says. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He scrubs at his eyes again. “I'm just really glad we're here.”

 

-

 

Gaster vaguely remembers that children enjoy being read to, so he shows Sans the bookcase housing his personal printed collection after everyone has calmed down from the breakfast excitement.  It spans across three large bookshelves that dominate one wall of the main room.  Each one houses reference materials on one of his favorite branches of science (physics, engineering/technology, magic/energy) and is packed with volumes, notebooks, files, and the occasional decorative ornament he’s received as a gift.  He likes to think they give the shelves a whimsical feeling.  Guests seem to like that in a house.

“…and these are organized more or less alphabetically by subject,” he explains, pointing out the helpful tabs he installed last year.  “So, I believe you were interested in magic research?”

Sans nods.

“What kind of background do you have?”

“I understand the basic principles of energy-to-output that forms magic, but not the variations the output can take,” Sans says, shifting Papyrus in his arms.

“That’s a solid beginning,” Gaster says, scanning the spines of his collection for a few specific volumes.  “It sounds like you’re interested in the different types of magic, yes?”

“Yeah,” Sans says, sounding a bit distracted.

The tone catches Gaster's attention.  He looks over to find Papyrus putting great effort into squirming out of Sans’ hold; every time Sans balances Papyrus’ weight, Papyrus finds a new way to wriggle into a new, more dangerous position.

“Quit it,” Sans hisses, trying and failing to hold Papyrus at arm’s length.  When Papyrus refuses to keep still, he keeps the baby in place with blue magic.  “What is with you today?”

Papyrus makes an annoyed noise and continues to wiggle in mid-air.

“If I may make an observation,” Gaster says, “He seems restless.  You could let him crawl around a bit?”

Sans looks at Gaster like he’s proposed something ridiculous.  “No offense, but your house is a danger zone.  I can see three unprotected outlets and six, seven, _nine_ sharp corners, without turning my head.  And I’m facing a wall.”

“My house is perfectly safe,” Gaster says.

“You set both sleeves on fire making pancakes this morning,” Sans replies.

Gaster is forced to concede the point, but hardly sees what that has to do with his outlets and furniture.  “Alright, what if we constructed a safe zone for him?  I’ve seen people let children play in spaces specifically designed for safety, I’m sure I could make something adequately secure.”

Sans considers this as Papyrus continues to fidget.  He seems to get more agitated the longer he’s held in suspension, and is starting to work himself into a tantrum.  “Okay,” Sans finally says, “But it has to have guardrails at least two feet tall, and padding on the walls and the floor, and something soft for him to play with.  And I’m doing the final checks.”

“You do seem to be the expert,” Gaster mutters under his breath.  “Alright, let me see what I can come up with.”

Half an hour and two prototypes later, they’ve made an impromptu floor square out of seven pillows, two blankets, and a laundry rack draped with towels.  The space is populated with Gaster’s single decorative pillow and an old shirt.  Sans tests the pen’s structural stability and softness one last time, then gently lowers Papyrus into it.  Papyrus, who was juggled between Sans’ arms and his magic for the duration of the building process, refuses to interact with anything out of sheer stubbornness.

“Come on, Paps, we made it for you,” Sans grumbles, poking the baby’s side.

Papyrus wriggles a bit and rolls onto his front to continue ignoring the world.  It takes a minute for curiosity to overcome his bad mood, but he eventually begins crawling towards the shirt.

Sans heaves a sigh of relief.  “I thought he was gonna be mad at me forever.”

“I don’t think he’s old enough to understand time that way,” Gaster says, watching as Papyrus clamps down on the shirt and drags it to the pillow.  “Is he normally so… bitey?”

“No, this is new.  I guess it’s the teething thing you were talking about.”

They watch Papyrus make a nest of the pillow and shirt, and liberally chew on them both.

“Did your teeth come in like that?”  Sans asks.

“I wasn’t originally created with a tangible body, so no,” Gaster replies.

Sans looks at him.  “I don’t know what that means.”

“I was born a ghost, so I didn’t get a physical form until later in life,” Gaster explains.  “Usually a ghost spends a significant amount of time looking for the perfect body to inhabit, but I stumbled into this one by accident.  I kept it because it suited my purposes.”

“How do you stumble when you don’t have a body?”

“I still wonder about that,” Gaster says honestly. 

They watch Papyrus some more.  He kicks his feet a few times, sending the shirt into the air.  It flutters and falls to completely cover him.

“Do you still want me to read to you?”  Gaster asks.

“I can read just fine,” Sans says.  He doesn’t sound offended, so Gaster assumes he hasn’t made another misstep.

“Would you like me to read to you anyway?”

“I’ve never been read to before.  What’s the point?”

“My understanding is that it’s something adults do with children as a way to impart information.  I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of doing it yourself, if you like.”

Sans seems to think this over.  “Couldn’t hurt to try.”

They choose an introductory text on the different types of magical attacks and how they correspond to the color of a monster’s soul.  He reads through the first chapter, which explains the physical effects of magic and how they're fueled by soul converting energy obtained through food into magic.  The information is slightly out of date (or it will be once some of the papers in Gaster's bag are printed officially), so Gaster supplements with the most recent research the Royal Laboratory has done on the generation of magical energy and how evidence is currently pointing towards the existence of constant that may, one day in the future, be used to determine magical energy output based on traditional energy input.  Sans follows along and asks questions about the papers' findings, which leads to a minor debate over whether or not different types of energy could be converted to magical reneger.  Gaster concedes that they could, but that there's currently no way to harness anything other than energy derived by food.  Since there's no definitive answers at this time, they agree to disagree and end the discussion by flipping to the ‘blue’ section.

“ _Blue magic is one of two magicks that restrict movement,_ ” Gaster reads, “ _Known to effect the gravitational pull on an object or subject, it generally requires the great energy input to the smallest energy output than the other magic types.”_

“That makes sense, I get real tired if I use too much,” Sans says.

“I’d love to know more about that sometime,” Gaster says.  “ _While the gravity-altering aspects of blue magic aren’t well understood, on-going studies have proven that blue magic has the ability to temporarily alter a subject’s physical properties.”_

“Sounds dangerous,” says Sans.

“It does,” Gaster agrees, “But there haven’t been any cases of damage due to blue magic.  Statistically speaking, you’re probably not going to be the first.”

Sans seems to think about this.  He laces and unlaces his fingers a few times.  “Maybe not,” he says quietly.

Gaster watches the behavior with an emotion he doesn’t recognize growing in the pit of his torso.  It feels like concern mixed with a wide dash of anxiety.  He doesn't like it.  At a loss for how to deal with this, he marks the page and snaps the book shut.  “Well, that’s enough for right now.  I believe sufficient time has passed for us to make lunch. You expressed an interest in sandwiches?”

Sans jolts out of his mood and stuff both hands in his pockets.  “Uh, yeah.  I liked the one you had yesterday.”

“Excellent.  It’s the only food I have in the house right now.”

 

-

 

Papyrus, naturally, gets the last container of applesauce.  Gaster manages to cobble two sandwiches together from the last of his vegetable stash and some old condiments.  Sans particularly takes to the ketchup.  It’s not a proper drink, but since tomatoes are technically a vegetable, Gaster’s willing to say ketchup probably has a place on pyramid of nutritional requirements.  Once the children are properly engrossed in lunch, Gaster excuses himself and dials his assistant's number.

“What are you doing?” Sans asks.

“Calling my assistant, Gerald. He's kind enough to help me with personal errands sometimes.”

Sans' eyes narrow. “Don't—”

“Hello,” Gaster says when his assistant picks up, “I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”

“ _You've forgotten to get groceries again, haven't you?_ ” Gerald asks.

“I have! I can't leave the house right now, could you bring some food by when you have time?”

“ _You can't leave the house? Are you alright?”_

“Oh yes, I just have some guests.”

“ _...okay,_ ” Gerald says, sounding doubtful. “ _Do you need anything in particular?”_

Gaster rattles off his usual list of groceries, plus a box of hot cocoa powder and few extra packages of applesauce. They say a short goodbye and hang up. Gaster turns around to tell the children they'll have food for dinner to find Sans staring at him again. The entire kitchen is lit by a blue glow surrounding the plates and cups from lunch, which are now hovering above the table in cluttered disarray. Sans' eyes are very wide and very blue.

“You really were just calling to get food,” he says.

“Yes,” Gaster says sheepishly. “I tend to forget things like groceries when I'm focused on work. I'm sorry, was there something specific you wanted?”

“No,” Sans says slowly. The place settings gradually resettle on the table.

Gaster watches water return to a glass as it sets down. “The control you execute over your magic is quite remarkable. Would you mind answering a few questions about it sometime?”

“It's not a big deal,” Sans says, avoiding eye contact by plucking his sandwich out of the air.

“I'd say it's a very big deal! I've seen monsters train their entire lives for the kind of power you seem to effortlessly control, and you're what, four years old?”

“Eight.”

“Eight! That's incredible.” Gaster grabs the magnetic list from the fridge and scribbles a note to ask about Sans' abilities later. Another time, though, because unless he's very much mistaken, the children need something else to do this afternoon, and he has no idea what children like to do.

Papyrus answers the question with a wide yawn. Sans dabs the applesauce off his face and hands with a napkin, then hoists him into his arms. “Just about time for a nap, huh buddy?”

“Nap? As in sleep? Why?” Gaster asks.

Sans looks at him like he's said something ridiculous again. “Paps is barely a year old, he needs to sleep in the middle of the day.”

“Sleep is a waste of time,” Gaster says with a dismissive hand-wave. “There are so many more interesting things to do.”

“You must have gone to bed at some point last night,” Sans says, carrying Papyrus into the living room.

Gaster follows them, leaving the dishes for the time being. “I did not. I spent the night figuring out what kind of things children can eat.”

Sans gathers the blankets and pillows from the safety zone and sets them down on the couch. “Well, we'll be good to go in, like, an hour. You should try getting some shut-eye, too, it might be good for you.”

Gaster watches as Sans lays on his side so Papyrus is between him and the back of the couch, then shrugs off his outer jacket to tuck Papyrus in. From there, he drapes the blankets over them both and goes still. A moment later, Papyrus makes a whining noise and begins to snore.

Sleeping has always been bumped down Gaster's list of priorities in favor of his work, especially since his synthetic body needs less rest than a biological one would, but hist guests will be asleep for at least an hour (probably longer if their REM cycles match the standard ninety-minutes) and it couldn't hurt to try a 'nap'. He grabs a pillow and lays down on the floor. While it's not as comfortable as his bed, Gaster can't deny his body is tired from several night without rest.

“I see your point,” he says.

“Told you,” says Sans from somewhere under the blankets.

Gaster mentally files 'naps' under his 'things children do' folder. In doing so, he revisits the idea that he doesn't know much about what children do to pass the time.

He laces his fingers across his torso. When Doctor W.D. Gaster doesn't know something, he sets up an experiment.

Right after he finishes his nap.

 

-

 

Gaster makes sure the children are still asleep, then quietly moves the coffee table and starts gathering items. A pair of mittens, a drinky bird, a magic eight-ball, and several other knick-knacks he's collected over the years are scattered over the floor.  He continues selecting small and soft items until he hears Papyrus start to stir.

Not a minute goes by before Papyrus makes a noise.  He then makes a louder one, which prompts the entire mess of bedding to start moving.

Sans sits up.  He hasn’t untangled them from the blankets yet, so the entire nest sits up with him and it takes several minutes to pull it off.  Gaster peers around the couch to see Papyrus somehow scoots out before Sans is free.  He immediately zeroes in the things scattered across the floor; Sans emerges to find him already chewing on the (child safe) drinky bird.

Sans looks at the various toys that have appeared on the sitting room rug.  “Huh,” he says.

The children proceed to explore the space.  Papyrus is attracted to both things he can bite and soft things he can fiddle with, which makes sense with the preferences he’s expressed so far.  Sans picks up the eight-ball and shakes it a few times,

Gaster sits back down and jolts a few notes.  When he peeks over the cushions again, two sets of eyes are peeking back at him from the other side of the couch.

“What are you doing?”  Sans asks.

“…seeing what kind of things you like,” Gaster says, reluctantly admitting the experiment may be compromised.

“Why didn’t you just ask?”

“…I hadn’t thought of that,” he admits, reluctantly admitting the experiment may have been flawed from the start.  “What kind of things do you like?”

Sans holds up the eight-ball and shakes it a few times.  “This is cool, and Paps likes the bird.  He’d probably like anything hard enough to survive being chewed, though.”

Gaster writes this down and underlines it.  “Alright.  I’ll ask my assistant to bring some things next time he comes by.”

The doorbell rings on cue.

“Speaking of,” Gaster says, “Come in, Gerald!”

 “I hope I’m not intruding,” Gerald says as he eases the door open.  “I have the food you apparently ran out of.”

“Not at all, my experiment was a failure anyway,” Gaster says, dusting off his pants as he stands

A large jellyfish squeezes through the door frame.  His main body, which is pale with dark stripes, has a regularly facial structure that includes two eyes, a mouth, and a surprisingly large nose.  He hangs suspended in mid-air by a series of helium tanks, and a water-based respiratory system is sewn into the short lab coat he wears.  Several arms are holding half a dozen plastic grocery bags, which are filled with Gaster’s food shopping.

“These should last you a week, if you remember to eat properly,” he says with only mild reproach.

“Thank you, Gerald.  Let me take some of these.”

“It’s not a problem, I needed to get my own shopping done anyway—” He catches sight of the children as he moves towards the kitchen.  “Well hello, there!”

Sans, who has been silently watching the situation up until this point, grabs Papyrus and _bolts_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The solar system clock looks like [this](http://www.uncommongoods.com/images/items/15100/15173_1_1200px.jpg). I think you get them for begin a science teacher?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaster realizes the implications of finding two kids in a bush. New characters are introduced. Papyrus is a little cranky.

_201x_

_Go to the shoppe: milk, pasta sauce, hot dogs, new shovel.  Return librarary books.  Avoid Undyne._

Sans double checks that his half of the household errands are finished.  Satisfied, he pockets his phone and goes in search of Papyrus.

Moving to Snowdin was a good decision for both of them.  It’s a small, quiet town where Papyrus can focus on his training and Sans can be far away from everything missing from this timeline.  Plus, neither of them are particularly bothered by the cold.

He finds Papyrus chatting with someone by the inn.  Sans grins and begins the walk over.

“Ah, there you are Sans,” Papyrus says, “Can you believe I dropped my wallet?”

“Sounds a little out of character,” Sans replies.

“It does, doesn’t it!  Luckily this man was kind enough to return it to me!”

Papyrus moves aside to introduce his benefactor. 

Sans stops cold. 

The monster in question is pale, like all the color has been bleached out of him.  He’s just a head sticking out of the ground, like the rest of his body is submerged in it, like the rest of his body was meant to be in water and he just. Climbed out and started swimming through the ground.  Or like at some point he moved through the world suspended mid-air and once his individual particles separated enough to move through solid matter, he just sank into the earth.

He looks at Sans and gives a crooked grin.

“You’ll never believe where I left it, apparently he found it in a bush!”

-

_199x_

“ _What do you mean you found them in a bush,”_ Gerald says.  He doesn’t shout, but Gaster can tell from his tone that it’s a close thing.

“I was walking home last night, and I tripped and fell in a bush and there were two children in there?”

“Did you even look for their guardians?”

“…they seemed to be taking care of themselves.”

“Gaster, we are talking about a child and a baby.  They can’t possibly be ‘taking care of themselves’.” Despite being preoccupied with cooking, Gerald spares two arms to make sarcastic air quotes.  He can be thoughtful like that.

“They’re doing fine.  You’re doing fine, aren’t you Sans?”  Gaster calls.

“Is he gone yet?”  Sans asks.  He sounds muffled because he’s speaking from the other side of the locked bedroom door.

“No, but he is making a grilled cheese sandwich for you.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It means I care about your wellbeing,” Gerald says gently, flipping the sandwich over.  It makes a sizzling noise when the uncooked bread hits the pan.  Following the discovery of two children who were afraid enough to run from him on sight, Gerald immediately began mashing vegetables and fruits into a more child-friendly state.  The plan appears to involve using food to gain their trust.

“People who care about your wellbeing generally aren’t dangerous,” Gaster points out.

Sans doesn’t answer.

Gerald plates the sandwich and adds some mashed peas as a side. “Sans?  I’m giving your dinner to Gaster, please let him give it to you.”

“I don’t want it.”

“There’s some food for Papyrus.  He hasn’t eaten for a few hours, he’s probably hungry.”

Sans doesn’t answer.

“Will you let Gaster give you the plate?  I’ll be in the kitchen.”  Gerald glares at Gaster in a way that suggests he’d better find a way to get the food to the children or _so help him._

“What am I supposed to do?”  Gaster whispers.

“You managed to get two scared kids to let you feed and house them. Keep doing whatever got that to work,” Gerald hisses, making an _I’m watching you_ gesture as he drifts back into the kitchen.

Gaster sighs.  He approaches the door and knocks again.  “Sans, it’s me.  May I give you dinner?”

Silence spools out between them.

“I’m leaving the food here for you,” Gaster says, putting the plate in front of the door before backing away to the couch, “Please take it.”

The silence continues for another minute, then the door inches its way open.  A small hand darts out and grabs the plate; the door slams shut and locks again.

“At least they won’t starve,” says Gerald from the kitchen doorway where he was watching.  Three pairs of arms are folded over his midsection.

Gaster slumps down on the couch.  “Yes, but now I have to negotiate mealtimes.  This is completely unacceptable behavior, why are they doing this?”

Gerald makes a long-suffering noise and drifts into the room. “Because they’re afraid of adults.”

“That is utterly preposterous,” Gaster says, waving the statement off, “What kind of child is afraid of adults?”

Gerald pauses before his next sentence.  “Doctor, children rely on adults to take care of them, yes?”

“They do.”

“Yet Sans and Papyrus seem to be more or less self-sufficient. Why do you think that is?”

Gaster well aware of the gaps in his knowledge, particularly in fields involving the social contract; Gerald’s ability to supplement them is one of the many reasons Gaster values him as an assistant.  He therefore views this step-by-step conversation as the learning opportunity it probably is, as opposed to the gross insult it could be. “Because they’ve learned to do it themselves,“ he replies. 

“Why do you think they learned to take care of themselves?  What would make you decide to do something yourself?”

“I do things myself when I’m the best person for the job, so extrapolating from that, these children probably realized they could take care of themselves better than—”

Gaster suddenly realizes the gravity of the situation.

“Than their guardian could,” he finishes quietly.

Gerald looks grim.

Something makes a scraping noise.  Gaster looks toward the bedroom in time to see an empty plate slide under the door.  It barely fits through the gap, and if there had been any crumbs left, they would have been sprayed across the hardwood.

The suspicion, the extreme reaction to Gaster’s perceived anger, trying to sneak out in the middle of the night.  Sans doesn’t trust Gaster.  He probably didn’t trust his previous guardians either.  It puts the fact that he found them in a hedge into new, uncomfortable light.

“These children need help, and for some reason they’ve decided to get it from you. We’re going to have to file a report with social services, but for now it would be best for them to stay in an environment already established as safe.” Gerald says firmly.  He drifts upwards and brushes his arms back into place. “I’ve clearly misjudged the kind of groceries you need this week.  I’m going to get more, plus some things to make your apartment more appropriate for children.”

“Why does everything think my apartment is dangerous?”  Gaster asks.

“Because you’ve never had to make it safe for anyone other than yourself,” Gerald replies, shifting his respirator into place.  He pauses.  “You’ve taken good care of these kids so far, doctor, I’m just going to help.  I’ll be back soon.”

Gaster slumps against the back of the couch as Gerald drifts out the front door.  The kitchen clock is the only thing making noise in the apartment.  It’s grounding, in a way.

He stretches out his synthetic spine.  Having a repairable body means its durable enough to survive Gaster’s clumsiness, but it also means that he has to manually realign his skeleton from time to time.  He likes to think it gives the illusion of fatigue.  In this case, it’s not an illusion.  Gaster glances down at his sweater.  It’s not dirty, since he doesn’t produce sweat and hasn’t done anything strenuous, but he has been wearing the same clothes since yesterday morning and that makes him _feel_ stale.

Gaster stands, pops his back again, and crosses the room and knocks on the bedroom door.  “Gerald has gone out.  Can I come in to get a new shirt?”

“Where did he go,” Sans asks.

“Apparently he agrees with your assessment that my apartment isn’t suitable for small children.  He’s gone to get baby-proofing supplies.”

There’s a long pause as Sans considers this.  “You’re sure that’s where he’s gone?”

“Where else would he go?”

There’s another moment of hesitation, followed by the sound of something heavy been moved.  The lock clicks open.

“Thank you,” Gaster says as he eases the door open.

At first glance, his bedroom is devoid of children.  It’s a simple room, with a bed, dresser, closet, and armchair in matching stains of wood.  While Gaster isn’t known for his housekeeping abilities, he’s proud of the level of tidiness he’s managed to attain in his home.  This isn’t it: the bedclothes have been gathered in the center of the mattress like a small nest, and the armchair has been dragged across the room; it appears to have formerly been fortifying the door.  Gaster’s sure that if the room had windows, the children would be long gone by now.

He rummages through the dresser, but he only keeps his fold-able clothes in here.  “I need to get something out of the closet,” he announces to the room, “Is that alright?”

“No,” says Sans from inside the closet.

“Could you give me a button down then, please?”

There’s a shifting noise, followed by the scrape of coat hangers on a rod.  “These all look the same.”

“They are the same.  Any one will do.”

The closet door opens a fraction of an inch and a clean button down drifts into the room.

“Thank you,” Gaster says, taking the shirt out of the air. He unbuttons out of his current shirt and shrugs on the new one.

“When will the big guy get back,” Sans asks.

“I don’t think it will take very long,” Gaster replies as he buttons up the new shirt, “Gerald seems to have experience with these kinds of things.”

“…he’s going to make your apartment safe for Paps?”

“That seems to be the idea.”

“And he made food specifically for us?”

“He did.”

Sans seems to consider this as Gaster pulls a casual sweater over the button down.  “Okay,” he says quietly.

“Okay?”  Gaster asks as he fishes his hands out of the sleeves.

“Okay,” Sans says more firmly.

“You’ll be coming out when he gets back, then?”

“No.”

“That’s a shame.  I need to get some thinking done, and I was thinking of going to the lab to do it.”

A single eye appears in the space between the closet door. “The place where you work?”

“Yes.”

“With all the science stuff?”

“That’s the one.”

Sans makes an indecisive noise.  Papyrus makes a baby noise.  One of them taps on the closet door from the inside.

“Will Gerald still be here when we get back?”

“Probably not, if we take long enough.”

Gaster takes extra care choosing fresh socks and tying his shoes so Sans has time to think.

Finally, he asks, “Can we come with you?”

Gaster doesn’t look up from his shoes, but he does smile.  “I’d like that.”

-

The Royal Science Laboratory is located in the central district of the Capital City.  More accurately, the central district of the Capital City is located around the Royal Science Laboratory; the lab was the first installation due to the priority towards technological and magical development, and other companies moved to the area in response.  Numerous restaurants have flourished, along with convenience stores, bookshops, movie rental stores, and other businesses that might serve a scientist looking to get some shopping done on their lunch break.

Since the Royal Laboratory falls under royal allocations, the Capital City’s chapter of the Royal Guard serves as security.  The guard stationed in the security booth tonight is a gruff, aquatic-looking woman wearing a respirator over the gills on her neck.

“Hey doc,” she says, checking his ID.  “Pulling another all-nighter?”

“No, I just need to do something thinking,” he replies, “Two visitor’s passes, please.”

The guard glances around.  When she doesn’t see anyone, she peers over the edge of the booth; Sans peers around the edge of Gaster’s leg.  Papyrus leans out over Sans’ arms to see what everyone is looking at.  They all size each other up for a moment.

“Shy thing, huh?”

“Something like that,” Gaster says, putting a hand on Sans shoulder without pulling him out into the open.  “These two are… family.  I’d like to show them around.”

The guard shrugs and starts rummaging around the booth for passes. “Sure, why not.  Should be fine as long as you keep them with you.  Just keep an eye out for my niece.  It was my turn to watch her, so she’s running around the building tonight.”

“Aren’t unaccompanied children supposed to stay in the daycare area?” Gaster asks.

The guard grins widely as she hands over the badges.  She has many teeth, and they all look very sharp. “That kid can’t be kept in one place. She knows which parts of the lab are off-limits, she’ll be fine.”

“Well, we’ll be sure to watch out for her,” Gaster replies. “Come along, children.”

“See ya,” the guard says with a wave.  “If Undyne gets too rough, tell her Aunt Donnie says ‘no biting’.”

“ _Biting,_ ” Sans hisses once they’re out of earshot, “Do scientists _bite?”_

“It’s my understanding that they’re not supposed to,” Gaster says, equally quietly.  “Lieutenant Donahue’s niece can be… disruptive.  Let’s try to avoid her if possible.”

“What kind of person _bites_ ,” Sans grumbles, shifting Papyrus so he can nibble on his jacket.  “And what kind of place makes you put a visitor’s pass on a baby?  Won’t hanging around you be enough?”

“There was a theft a few years ago.  I don’t know the details, but the director before me decided having everyone on the books would be the most effective security.”

Sans shrugs.  “Sure. Check in the baby, why not.”

“It does seem rather far-fetched, doesn’t it,” Gaster says as he scans his badge at the door.  It makes a buzzing noise as it unlocks, and he ushers the children in.

Most of the employees have already gone home for the day, but a few monsters are still wandering around despite the hour.  Gaster knows that social convention dictates a short chat with each coworker he crosses paths with, but considering how the children reacted to Gerald (who is the most innocuous person Gaster has ever had the pleasure of working with), he decides to forgo convention with a simple smile and nod of acknowledgment.

“Is there anything in particular you’d like to see?”  He asks.

Sans looks up from Papyrus, who he’s been watching closely. “What do you usually do here?  I want to see that.”

Papyrus has been watching monsters go by with wide-eyed fascination.  He doesn’t seem to share Sans’ fear, but he is getting impatient with being held for so long.

“How about my office first?  I often go there when I need to think.”

They trek through the hallways towards the center of the building. Gaster has the largest office due to his status as Head Royal Scientist, but the space is mostly filled with side projects and readings.  Having the extra space is a good thing, since Gerald has banned him from taking them home, saying that it would be too easy for Gaster to wander away from something and put his apartment building in danger.  Gaster wishes he could argue against that.

He gives a tour of his current projects: a series of parts he hopes to assemble into a mobile phone, a test of concentrated magic samples to see if they can be combined, and several attempts at cooking using lab equipment.  Sans listens to the explanation for each one.  He takes a particular interest in the phone.

“So you’re saying anyone could talk to anyone else, from anywhere?”  He asks, pushing the tiny components around the workbench.

“That’s the idea.”

“That’s nuts,” he says, holding Papyrus away from the table when he tries to grab a piece.  Papyrus makes an indignant sound and begins to squirm.

“Perhaps it would be best if we went somewhere Papyrus could crawl around,” Gaster says diplomatically, “There are areas specifically designed for children.”

“In a government-controlled facility?”

“Sometimes scientists have children that need taking care of,” Gaster replies.

Sans looks skeptical, but the three of them leave the office in search of a child-friendly space.  The daycare, as Gaster understands it, is for leaving underage monsters in the care of a temporary guardian, which he has no intention of doing to the skittish skeleton children.  Instead, they go to the library.

The evening librarian is a large yellow lizard.  Gaster suspects he’s a member of a sub-species that gained sentience and branched off of an herbivorous dinosaur, but he keeps these opinions to himself because to do otherwise is considered rude. 

“Good evening, Doctor Gas—” The librarian has a deep voice that stops short when his eyes fall on Sans and Papyrus.  “Well _hello_ there!”

“Good evening, Mister Alphys,” Gaster replies.  “You don’t sound very well.”

“I’m recovering from a cold,” he says.

“Well, I hope you recover quickly.  I was also hoping you could point me towards the children's section.”

“Yes, I can see why,” Alphys says.  He watches Sans and Papyrus for a moment longer, then looks back to Gaster with a bright smile.  “It’s the middle branch off the central area.  There are big, colorful signs, you can’t miss it.  I don’t think I’ve seen you with children before, doctor, who are these?”

“This are my nephews, Sans and Papyrus.  I’m watching them for a while,” Gaster says.  He lets Sans duck behind his legs to escape Alphys’ gaze. “Children, this is Mister Alphys, the nighttime librarian.”

“Well aren’t they shy,” Alphys says, “We’ll just have to introduce them to my little girl sometime, she’s been needing someone her own age to play with.”

“We’ll certainly think about it, thank you for the directions,” Gaster says politely. He walks backwards towards the central area of the library so Sans can continue using him as a shield.

“Come by anytime,” Alphys replies with a wave.

Sans holds Papyrus tight until they’re out of sight of the circulation desk. “Why does everyone talk so much here?”

“People enjoy communicating with each other.  They find it fulfilling.”

Sans scowls.  “You know what I mean.”

Gaster considers the question in earnest.  “They’re probably curious, since I’ve never mentioned family before. You’re something of a surprise.”

Sans snorts, but doesn’t comment further.

The library houses both the royal printed collection and the Royal Laboratory’s research collection.  Both are extensive, meaning the library has its own dedicated wing of the facility. It takes several minutes of walking through the stacks to find the children’s section, which turns out to be a large space with short bookshelves and shorter tables and chairs.  There are a few adult-sized chairs scattered around the room, and several beanbags that look like they’ve seen better days.  Sans sets Papyrus down on the colorful carpet; he immediately zeroes in on the closest beanbag chair and begins to scale it.

“It’s very colorful,” Sans says, looking at shelves painted to look like a storybook landscape.

“It is,” Gaster agrees.  “And the books look… short.”

They choose one off the shelves and flip through it.

“Why is the rabbit making that noise,” Sans asks.

“Peek-a-boo is a game played with small infants.  Since their sense of object permanence has yet to solidify, losing visual contact with someone’s face is interpreted as that person ceasing to exist, therefore creating a sense of delight upon the reestablishment of the person’s existence.”

Sans looks at the book, then to Papyrus, who has settled into the beanbag chair for a sulk.  “That sounds cruel.”

Upon further reflection, Gaster has to admit he’s right.

They choose a few well illustrated picture books because Papyrus seems to like them, though it’s hard to tell when he’s acting so surly, then wander to the more advanced sections of the library.  Gaster chooses a new text on computer components and another on the stages of child development, and Sans adds a stack of books on energy conservation theory specializing on magic to the check-out pile.

Gaster carries the books under one arm, since Papyrus has decided to wriggle and make grumpy noises the whole way home, and requires both Sans’ arms to hold him. He explains his various projects in greater detail, giving Sans the opportunity to ask questions about the different facets of his work.

“Of course, this would require several transmission towers to broadcast over several dozen times the number of channels in order to accommodate large volumes of users, but if this works on a small scale, I think the utility would convince the king of the need,” Gaster explains as he slots the key into his apartment door.

“How are you going to compensate for the distance?  There’s no way you can maintain the necessary fidelity over the entire city, let alone the entire underground— oh wow, he actually got baby stuff _._ ”

There’s a large plastic-and-mesh construction in the middle of the room, creating a small space enclosed with walls high enough to keep Papyrus contained. Cords have been tied out of reach, a baby gate has been installed in the kitchen doorway, and all unoccupied outlets are filled with protectors.

“I’ve never known Gerald to leave a job unfinished,” Gaster says.

“Hmm,” Sans says, “I continue to reserve judgement.  I might not like him at all.”

“I’ve never met someone who didn’t like Gerald,” Gaster says, tying off his cooking apron.  “I hope you don’t’ mind, but I’m making pasta this evening.”

“Maybe something to eat will calm this guy down,” Sans grumbles.

Gaster looks over.  For the second time in two days, Papyrus is squirming impatiently in Sans’ arms. This time, however, it’s because Sans is trying to put him in the playpen and Papyrus does not want to let go.

“Please, kiddo, I’ve been carrying you for hours.  I’m tired,” Sans begs, trying to extract his sleeves from Papyrus’ tiny grip.

Papyrus makes an unhappy noise that abruptly climbs to an unhappy shriek.

“Okay, okay, c’mere,” Sans says, hoisting Papyrus back out of the playpen.  He sits on the couch with Papyrus on his lap.  “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Papyrus clings to Sans’ shirt with one hand and begins to pat his own face with the other.  He makes a quieter, high-pitched noise.

“Oh no, _oh no_ don’t,” Sans says, desperately bouncing the baby.

Gaster, who has been watching the event from the kitchen doorway, says, “What’s wrong?”

“Papyrus is upset,” Sans says.  He sounds breathless and a little scared.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“ _Yes_ it’s a bad thing,” Sans snaps, “When Papyrus gets upset, he gets _magically_ upset; you’ve seen what happens when I get _magically_ upset, now imagine that in a baby that doesn’t really know what he’s doing.”

Gaster thinks about being hurled through the air like a piece of balled-up paper, and three sets of table settings frozen mid-air, and the sheer magnitude of magic energy Sans can summon at will.  A blue glow suddenly lights up his couch.  It pops off the ground, then just as abruptly slams back down. “Oh,” he says.

More blue light begins to flicker around the various pieces of furniture.  “I advise vacating the premises until Paps calms down.  I need to contain this,” Sans says.  Papyrus is making tentative, distressed noises with increasing frequency, and his face is scrunched into the picture of infant overload.

The couch scoots violently to one side, then twice as far to the other.  Gaster then thinks about how often children Papyrus’ age get upset.  He thinks about finding two scared children who had nothing in the world but each other, and wonders how many times Sans has already had to pit his magic against his brother’s since they struck out on their own. “No.”

“I wasn’t asking a question,” Sans yells over the hum of magic. The coffee table and bookcase have started to rattle, spilling books and files all over the floor.

“If you had enough spare magic to make me leave, you already would have,” Gaster says, calmly untying his apron and hanging it on the hook by the kitchen door.  “Instead, it’s taking everything you have to keep Papyrus from destroying the apartment, isn’t it?”

Papyrus’ patience reaches its limit.  He begins to wail, and the room lights up in bright blue.  Every piece of furniture is thrown into the air, Sans and Papyrus with them, then slams back to the ground hard enough to rattle the floorboards, then bounces back up again.

“You don’t have enough attention to contain Papyrus and comfort him at the same time.”

“ _I’m telling you to get out of here,_ ” Sans yells over the sound of splintering wood and Papyrus’ crying.

“I’m not getting out of here,” Gaster replies.  He hops onto the couch next to Sans and wraps his arms around them both to secure everyone together.  “I’m not leaving.”

Gerald had warned him that babies sometimes get uncomfortable with very little warning.  Papyrus continues to scream with unhappiness.  They’re shoved into the floor with a force great enough to cram Gaster into the cushions until his skeleton begins to creak, then launched into the air as though gravity has been reduced by at least half.  Gaster can hear chairs being thrown around and cabinets slamming open and closed in the kitchen.  He holds the children tight as they swim through the sitting room.

“You’re going to get hurt!”  Sans shouts over the cacophony.

“I’m not leaving!”  Gaster shouts back.

Household goods are hurled sidewise as though their center of gravity has been thrown 90 degrees to the side, ricocheting off each other and coming to rest on the wall between the sitting room and the kitchen.  Gaster takes the brunt of the impact; his shoulder slams into the wall with a sound that indicates a possible dislocated joint. Gaster bites back a shout of his own, but manages to shield the children from the worst of the shock.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Sans yells.

“I really don’t,” Gaster agrees, “But I’m still staying!”

Sans stares at him as Papyrus continues to cry.  His eyes, filled with blue from the magic he’s expending, are wide open.  It’s the same look he had when Gaster didn’t throw them out over the blankets.  He looks frayed around the edges like he’s had too much to do for far too long, and he looks _scared_.

“It’s okay,” Gaster says.

Sans holds out for another moment, then bursts into tears himself.

The furniture is thrown to the edges of the room, pinned in place by the force of the energy burst.  The hum of magic is louder than the various items colliding with the walls and each other.  The walls groan in protest, and the less durable objects buckle and shatter under the strain.  Everything is _loud_ and _sharp_ , and through it all, Gaster clutches Sans and Papyrus to his chest and doesn’t let go.

Gerald also mentioned that emotional outbursts tend to burn out quickly.  The crying continues, loud and uninterrupted, but the magic gradually slows, then cuts off entirely.  The furniture settles, the cabinets hang by their now-broken hinges, and the files flutter lazily back to the ground.  It tapers off and lowers the room’s occupants to the ground.  In the end, Gaster slides down the wall and sits on the floor of his ruined sitting room, making reassuring noises to the bawling children in his arms.

This, too, slows to a stop.  Sans and Papyrus come down from a panicking cry to sobbing, to hiccupping, and finally to sniffling.  Sans holds Papyrus close, and Papyrus reaches up to pat Sans’ face.  Gaster dries their tears with his sleeve.

“Oh,” Sans says when he finally looks up, “Your face.”

Gaster reaches up to feel for damage.  A second fracture bisects his face, this time running from the back of his head to the top of his right eye.

“Does it hurt,” Sans asks.  His hand hovers uncertainly, like he wants to touch the injury but is afraid of damaging Gaster further.

“No,” Gaster says.  “Don’t worry, I can fix this.  This body used to be a training dummy after all, I can easily repair it.”

“You’re not a dummy,” Sans says firmly.

Papyrus reaches up to pat the undamaged half of Gaster’s face.

He looks at the two children, who stumbled completely uninvited into his life.  “No, I suppose I’m not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It can be tough writing from G-man’s pov, because there are details going on that he hasn’t noticed :/


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cleaning up after two magically superpowered kids takes a lot of work; cleaning up after a suspicious childhood takes more work.

The next morning, Gaster calls Gerald for the second time in so many days.

“What happened?!” He exclaims upon opening the door to the wreckage of Gaster’s former apartment. Splinters of glass and wood are imbedded in the walls, the furniture is upended and dented in places, and papers are scattered absolutely everywhere. The only visible floor is a narrow path leading to the bedroom. Gaster carved it out with a broom the night before in order to put the children to bed.

“Shh,” Gaster shushes him, pointing towards the bedroom, where Sans and Papyrus are still asleep. 

“What happened,” Gerald hisses quietly.

“You were right about children getting upset.”

“This is more than upset, it’s a natural disaster! The kids did all this?”

“I did mention that they have extreme magic capabilities.”

“You did not.”

“I didn’t?”

“No!”

“Oh.” Gaster looks at the mess. It is, perhaps, a bit much. “Well, would you mind helping me clean up? This is really a two-person job.”

Gerald sighs heavily. “Alright, but we need to have a discussion about the kids as soon as it’s done.”

The two of them make quick work of clearing the floor, throwing out the worst of the debris and pushing everything else into a pile by the kitchen door. Nothing is irreparably damaged, and quick check reveals that both the pipes and electrical wiring are all in working order, so they move on the putting things back into a semblance of order.

“What did you want to talk about,” Gaster asks as he slots books back onto the bookcase.

Gerald continues to file a rough edge of the kitchen table. “What exactly happened last night? You were gone when I got back.”

“I thought it might be best be if the children and I were out when you got back, so I took them to the lab.”

“I’m hoping you didn’t know they were this volatile at that point?”

“I didn’t know Papyrus’ magic had already kicked in, no.”

“Doctor, are you telling me you knowingly brought a child with extremely unstable magic into our top security government facility that houses the most delicate, dangerous experiments in the Underground?”

“I’d hardly call their magic ‘unstable’,” Gaster replies.

Gerald wipes a hand over his face. Three more are making increasingly exasperated gestures in Gaster’s direction. He sighs heavily and turns the file over a few times before setting it on a chair. “I have to report this.”

“What? Why?”

“Because they tore your home apart! I can’t even tell what kind of magic did this.”

“They didn’t mean to, it was an accident—”

“I’m sure it was, but what if they’d been around someone less durable than you? Someone could have been seriously hurt, and with whatever they’ve already been through, what do you think hurting someone would do to them?”

Gaster laces and unlaces his fingers. It’s an old agitated gesture, learned when he was first figuring out how to use hands. He’s not sure if the agitation stems from anger that Gerald thinks Sans and Papyrus could hurt someone, or concern about what could happen if they did. “They’re just children, Gerald. They didn’t know.”

Gerald drifts across the room and puts two hands on Gaster’s shoulders. “I know, and I’m not saying they can’t stay with you, but they need support and guidance to make sure they aren’t a danger to others or themselves. Do you even do have the same kind of magic that they do?”

He looks at his own hands, still contorting around each other in an effort to calm himself. They’re connect to his body through a series of purple strings. “No.”

“They clearly need you, but they also need help from someone who has experience with their abilities, and possibly some kind of trauma counseling for whatever drove them into that bush in the first place. It would be best if they could meet with someone who understands where they’re coming from and what they’re going through.”

“They stay here, though,” Gaster says firmly.

“They stay here,” Gerald agrees.

“We stay here,” says a quiet voice from the doorway.

The bedroom door is open. Sans is standing just inside the threshold at a distance where he can still close the door. He’s gripping the knob for support, but otherwise looks absolutely resolute.

Gerald smiles gently. “You stay here.”

He and Sans watch each other for a moment. Gaster gets the distinct impression they’re sizing each other up.

“You try anything weird and we’re gone,” Sans says.

Geralds nods. “Understood.”

“And my magic is perfectly under control. We’re not going to any specialists.”

“I’ll leave that decision between you and Gaster.”

“We’re not.”

“I understand,” Gerald says, “I want to hear what you have to say about that, but first maybe we can clean the house and I’ll make some lunch?”

Every piece of displaced houseware suddenly leaps into the air and begin to shuffle itself back into order. They’re not in exactly the right place, Gaster notes as his books arrange themselves upside down and slightly out of order on the shelf, but everything settles approximately where it belongs. Through the process, Sans glares at Gerald with folded arms.

“Well,” says Gerald as the chipped cups and plates file neatly into the cabinet, “That does explain what kind of magic you use.”

A pan clatters onto the stove, and as the food sorts itself into the cupboards and refrigerator, a loaf of bread and block of cheese are land pointedly on the counter.

“Right,” Gerald says, drifting to the cutlery drawer for a spatula.

Sans sits at the table while he cooks. He glowers with his arms crossed, and it’s very clear that Gerald’s precense will only be tolerated for the length of time it takes to make lunch. Papyrus, on the other hand, is over his mood and completely thrilled to have company. He babbles at everyone who will listen (which is mostly Gaster) and kicks his feet in the booster seat Gerald got the day before. He lets Gaster hand him various (child safe) things for inspection, moving them between his hands and chewing when appropriate. He also sometimes reaches over to pat the back of Sans’ head.

“There we are,” says Gerald, carrying four plates, “Three grilled cheese sandwiches and one small cup of mashed carrots. Would you like ketchup with yours, Sans?”

“I don’t know what that is,” Sans grumbles, pushing the bowl of mashed carrots out of Papyrus’ reach.

Gerald sets the bottle near his plate. “Mostly tomatoes, with some vinegar and sugar mixed in for flavor and preservative measures.”

Gaster eyes the bottle with distrust. He will allow it in his home until Sans official decides he doesn’t like it.

Gerald watches Sans glare at the plate for another moment, then tilts his head the way he does when he’s figured out a puzzle. “Sans, please point to any part of the sandwich.”

Sans raises an eyebrow at him, but points to a small section near the corner.

Gerald breaks off the piece, dips it into Papyrus’ mashed carrots, and eats it while sharing a look with Gaster. Why does an eight-year-old think there might be something wrong with his food?

Mollified, Sans grabs the sandwich and stuffs half of it in his mouth. After a moment’s thought, he grabs the ketchup and tries to pour some on his plate. It resists, then falls out and splashes over the plate and table. Sans freezes, looking first to Gerald, then to Gaster.

Gerald puts a napkin on the table and slides it to Sans. “No harm done,” he says gently.

Sans hesitantly takes the napkin and wipes up the worst of the mess without taking his eyes off Gerald’s face.

“I’m not angry,” he says, still gently.

Sans doesn’t look away, but he does start eating at a slower pace.

As always, Gaster is impressed by Gerald’s ability to understand people. He reflects that it’s a skill he’d like to learn one day as he takes a small spoonful of mashed carrots and tries to feed Papyrus. Papyrus gurgles and bats the spoon out of Gaster’s hand, sending it clattering across the table. Sans freezes again.

Gerald smiles and uses a fresh napkin to sop up the mush. “Looks like this table is due for a cleaning, huh doctor?”

“That seems to be the case,” Gaster replies. He tries to feed Papyrus another spoonful and is met with the same results. “This is not how mealtimes are supposed to go.”

“Here,” Sans says, taking the spoon from him. He makes a complicated flight path with it to get Papyrus’ attention, then taps on his mouth with the other hand. Papyrus watches the spoon zoom through the air, past his face a few times, then bites down on it when it gets close enough with a delighted noise.

“I don’t know how you did that,” Gaster says.

“He likes it when food is interesting,” Sans says around the second half of the sandwich, which he’s now eating with one hand as he feeds Papyrus with the other. Most of the carrot mash ends up on Papyrus’ face when he grabs the spoon and sends it flying; roughly half of the food ends up in Papyrus’ mouth. Sans immediately cleans up each spoonful that doesn’t make it.

Lunch passes in more or less the same fashion until Sans begins to examine the ketchup. He pushes the puddle around his plate with his fork, then cautiously rubs some between his thumb and forefinger, then even more cautiously licks his finger clean.

And seems to experience some kind of enlightenment.

“What did you say this was,” he asks faintly.

“Ketchup,” Gerald replies, pushing the bottle his way.

Sans looks between the ketchup and Gerald several times.

“You can keep that,” Gerald says.

Sans grabs it off the table and stuffs it into his jacket. “You brought this?”

“Mhmm,” Gerald says. He’s making a face like he’s trying to take the situation very seriously, but is also smiling around the edges of his mouth.

“I still don’t trust you,” Sans says.

“Trust isn’t given automatically; it has to be earned. I wouldn’t expect anything less of you.”

Sans continues to watch Gerald’s movements, but as he also clutches the ketchup tight to his chest as he collects Papyrus for their nap.

“Not one word from you,” Gerald says as Sans leaves the kitchen.

“It’s important to Sans, I’m willing to let one bottle go,” Gaster grumbles, “But just the one.”

Gerald pulls the not-smiling face again.

-

Gerald sets up an interview with a specialist for that evening. He takes Gaster aside to explain the situation: child social services is sending an agent to gather more details about Sans and Papyrus’ case in person. They’ve agreed that Gaster is doing an excellent job sheltering and building a connection with the kids, but the agent wants to collect more information about their circumstances and background to see what kind of support they might need in the future. It hadn’t occurred to Gaster that he might not be able to adequately provide for the children’s’ emotional needs. He feels an unexpected twist of emotion at the idea.

“Don’t worry, the agent has years of experience,” Gerald says as he gathers Sans’ library books. “I worked with her during my rotation in the daycare center, you won’t find anyone better in the field.”

“I don’t care,” says Sans from the end of the couch. He’s somewhere between angry and scared, and is consoling himself sitting between Papyrus and the door. They’ve rearranged the sitting room so Gaster’s armchair sits across from the couch, giving the specialist somewhere to sit and Sans somewhere to hide.

“I won’t let anything happen,” Gaster says, from where he’s sitting between Sans and the door.

“For what it’s worth, I won’t either,” Gerlad says, placing the books by the blankets and pillows in the bedroom closet. They’re saved from further conversation by a knock on the door. “Ah, there she is.”

“I’m right here,” Gaster says as Sans curls further into himself.

“I know,” Sans whispers as Gerald drifts to the door.

Gerald says as he opens the door and extends an arm for a handshake. “Hello Lieutenant, thank you for coming.”

“Pretty sure I told you to call me Donnie,” says Donahue, taking Gerald’s arm in a firm grip. She’s swapped her official uniform for a band t-shirt and some jeans, but civilian clothes can’t hide the fact that she’s First Lieutenant of the Royal Guard. She carries herself too confidently, and she very obviously spends her free time on strength training. “I hear there’s some neat kids in here.”

“There are. Two of them, in fact.” He shows her into the room. “Donnie, this is Sans and Papyrus; Sans, I believe you and Papyrus have already met Lieutenant Donahue?”

“Just ‘Donnie’,” Donahue repeats. She crosses the room and throws herself into the armchair. Gaster raises an eyebrow at her unprofessional demeanor, but doesn’t comment.

“I thought you were a guard,” Sans says from where he’s scooted behind Gaster.

“The Guard paid for my education, so I act as a liaison between them and child social services. Basically, I’ve got the resources and muscle to make sure kids are treated right.”

“We are being treated right.”

“You definitely are now, but I need to make sure you’re getting all the resources you need.”

Sans glares over Gaster’s shoulder. “Are you implying that Gaster is mistreating us?”

“No way. It’s easy to see how much this guy cares about you. I’m saying you need stuff that he can’t give you. You’ve been doing great on your own so far, and you’ve been doing a great job taking care of the little guy. I want to give you everything you need to keep doing great. Plus, I want to know more about you.”

Gaster can’t see Sans, but he can hear the suspicion in his voice. “About me?”

“Sure. I’ve never seen you before and you seem pretty cool, so I’m wondering where you’ve been up until now.”

Gaster privately admits to his own curiosity around Sans’ and Papyrus’ origins. Their accents suggest they learned to speak somewhere in Waterfall, but their knowledge of the Capital City’s layout is too broad for them to be anything but locals.

Sans hesitates. “Around,” he finally says.

“I heard Doctor Gaster found you in a bush, did you live there?”

“For a while, yeah.”

Donnahue leans against her knees with her forearms. It effectively paints the picture of having a friendly chat. “Did you like living there?”

“No.” There’s no hesitation this time. “I hated it.”

“Then what were you doing there?”

“It… was better. Than what we had.”

Donnie nods. “Sometimes it’s better to live somewhere you hate less.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you always live in that bush, after you left the place you hated?”

“No. We moved around when people started to notice us. In the summer we’d sleep on benches, but it got cold.”

Donnie asks about the kind of places they stayed (wherever they could find somewhere to sleep) and how they got food and clothes (things that were left out, and on occasion the garbage, the garbage, they’re just children and they were eating out of the garbage). She seems to be teasing out details of their previous whereabouts without asking directly; the children seem to have run away from somewhere in the capital approximately three months ago. It’s impressive to watch her work.

“Sans, I’d like to ask you an uncomfortable question. You don’t have to answer it, but I’m going to ask, okay?”

Sans gives a reluctant nod.

“Why did you decide to start living in parks and bushes?”

Sans breaks eye contact. His fingers dig into Gaster’s shoulders. He’d started to come out from behind him as it became apparent that Donahue just wanted to ask a few questions, but upon mention of his former residence, he shrinks back again. Gaster’s hands aren’t biologically attached to his body, so it’s a simple matter of manipulating the magic to place one on Sans’ back and rub in circles while Sans puts words together.

“I had to protect Papyrus,” he says finally.

“Can I ask what you were protecting him from?”

Gaster squeezes the hood of Sans’ jacket; Sans squeezes the fabric under his hands. “No.”

“That’s okay,” she says gently, “You don’t have to tell me. No matter where you came from, I’m glad both of you are here now.”

Sans ducks his face into Gaster’s shoulder. “Me too,” he says quietly.

-

Sans locks himself in the bedroom once the interview is over. The bedroom closet nest, furnished with a mountain of pillows (courtesy of Gerald), is stocked with books and snacks and a few chewable baby-toys. It was constructed so he would have somewhere safe to hide after meeting with Lieutenant Donahue. Gaster takes advantage of the childrens’ absence to sit down with Gerald, Donahue, and three hot drinks.

“Something’s definite up with their past,” Donahue says, taking a sip of her scalding hot coffee, “The number one reason kids run away is because something is going on at home. Papyrus is too young to tell, but Sans is terrified of something they left behind. Plus, from what you’ve been describing about your conversations, Sans’ education and development are all over the place.”

Gerald, who is holding his own hot drink (a cup of tea), nods in agreement. “They’re not like any children I’ve met. Sans can hold an in-depth discussion about energy transference as in pertains to the expression of magic, but he’s never seen a bottle of ketchup before.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. He knows too much in a few specific areas and nothing about anything else. There’s a good chance someone was grooming him for something, and the fact that he said he left to protect Papyrus could mean that he was next on the list.”

Gaster listens to the conversation with a pinched expression. The fact that Sans and Papyrus might have actively run away from someone, as opposed to wandering off or being forgotten, has eluded him up until this point. The thought of someone inspiring the behaviors he’s seen is unsettling. “As much as this pains me to ask,” he says, “Do you think I’m the right person to be looking after them? I already have a difficult time understanding people, and I’m afraid that I might not be able to properly support these children.”

Donahue sets her empty coffee cup on the matching saucer. It’s still hissing with heat, and a few puffs of steam escape from between her teeth as she talks. “I think you’re fine. These kids see you as a safe adult, and if they’re going to recover from this, that’s something they’re going to need.” She sets both the saucer and cup on the table. Her face is steeled in a way that suggests an unpleasant topic is coming up. “You’re not going to like this, but I have to see if I can find their previous guardian.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Let me finish. I need to try and figure out where they came from because they might have living relatives, or there might be other kids in the same situation, or maybe because this whole thing might be a big misunderstanding. I doubt that one, but it’s standard procedure in a case like this to make inquires.”

Gaster sighs heavily. He doesn’t like the idea of digging into the Sans’ and Papyrus’ past. What if Donahue finds the decision to run away was unjustifiable and they have to be returned home? Or, what if it was perfectly justified because someone saw fit to hurt these two gentle children? He isn’t sure which answer is worse

“I’m heading back to the office,” Donahue says, extracting a small square of cardstock from her pocket. “Here’s my card. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“Not you, too. Just call me Donnie.”

“Donnie, right. Thank you for your time.”

“No sweat,” she says, “I’ll be in touch. Gerald, see me out?”

Gerald drifts to the door with Donnie. They have a short, quiet conversation just outside Gaster’s hearing range, and then she’s gone.

“I think that went well,” Gerald says when he gets back.

“As well as could be expected,” Gaster agrees, “Do you think they’ll be allowed to stay here?”

“Donnie is optimistic. The foster program is overcrowded as it is so they’re willing to look at alternative housing, plus the kids really like you. Trust is the best way to get someone to open up and accept help.”

“She’ll want to meet with them regularly, yes?”

“Probably. She wants to build a rapport with Sans, hopefully get him into some kind of counseling, and eventually a schooling program so he can interact with other children his age.”

Gaster reviews what he’s learned about Sans and frowns. “I’m not sure he’d get along with children his age.”

“Maybe not, but being around them would help him learn how to behave in social situations. It couldn’t hurt to give him the option.” He finishes the last of his tea. “I need to get to the lab, it’s my turn to watch the determination experiments this afternoon. Would you like me to make some lunch before I go?”

“No, you’ve done so much already. But if it’s not too far out of your way, I’d appreciate it if you could collect the reports on the desk in my office.” He glances at the closed bedroom door. “Given the situation, I think it would be best if I worked from home for the next few days.”

“I’ll bring them after five,” Gerald says, adjusts his respirator and collects his bag, promising to call ahead when he’s on his way back. They exchange few short goodbyes, and he leaves.

The door clicks shut behind him. Memories of Donahue’s conversation tumble in to fill the sudden quiet. Gaster sits on the couch and waits for them to sort themselves out, but several minutes go by without yielding a pattern. He frowns and puts on the kettle for a second cup of tea. This might take several hot drinks to get through.

“Sans,” he calls, knocking on the bedroom door, “I’m making tea, would you like some? Or maybe a hot chocolate?”

The lock clicks and the door eases open. Sans’ face appears in the gap. “Uh, no thanks, but could I get some stuff for Paps? He’s getting hungry.”

“Of course.” Gaster stands to one side so Sans can pass him and move to the kitchen. He peeks into the bedroom in time to see Papyrus tumble out of the closet with the corner of a blanket held in his tiny fist. Papyrus considers this development from his new spot on the floor. “What did you think of Lieutenant Donahue?”

“She was okay. Kind of dangerous-looking at first, but she doesn’t act dangerous,” says Sans as he drags a chair to the cupboard.

“She’ll probably want to talk to you again.”

Sans picks at the corner of the cabinet door. “Why?”

“She wants to learn about you, I think. She wants to help.”

“We don’t need help,” Sans says firmly, “Me and Paps are doing fine now.”

Gaster opens an adjacent cabinet, pulling a box of tea from the shelf. “Everyone needs help sometimes, Sans. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Not me,” he grumbles, grabbing a jar of pea-flavored baby food and hopping down from the chair.

“Will you do it to help me, then? I’d really like to make sure you’re getting the support you need to grow up healthy.”

Sans pauses. He looks at the jar of food in his hand, and the chair he just used to scale the cabinet. He takes the chair and pushes it back into place at the table. “Okay,” he says quietly.

Gaster smiles. “Thank you.”

Sans wanders back to the bedroom. He scoops up Papyrus to give him dinner, but doesn’t close the door this time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contracts are made, library books are checked out.

Gaster bids the children goodnight and goes to his study for the evening to catch up on some research. The lab is currently in the process of creating synthetic determination, and Gaster has been tasked with finding a way to contained the (hopefully) resulting material. He’s been testing prototypes on the known types of monster magicks with good results. This means he needs to factor in the human component which, at this point in time, is impossible. There’s no way to study the possible consequences because humans and monster haven’t interacted since before the war, and if Gaster had humans to ask about these things, the monster race wouldn’t be in this predicament in the first place.

Still, he can speculate about the possible effects determination might have on common materials.

The clock moves past five A.M. before he notices, and by the time he remembers the linear passage of time, it’s well into morning. Gaster stretches and removes his glasses, massaging the sides of his head. His knuckles, back, and neck all file their complaints. He jots a note to ask someone about realigning his skeleton and stiffly leaves the office to start making breakfast. And stops short.

The living room is spotless. There’s no sign of the magic twister that blew through the day before; the furniture has been thoroughly clean and repaired and the walls have been spackled and sanded. A brief survey of the bookcases shows that Gaster’s collection is in its approximate pre-incident order. A finger run along the top shelf comes away clean. Even his socks squeak against the polished floor.

“Sans?” He calls uncertainly.

“In here,” Sans replies from the kitchen, where something is sizzling on the stove. “I made breakfast.”

Gaster cautiously enters the kitchen. The attention to detail is even more apparent here, where the surfaces and cabinet doors have been scrubbed to a shine. Three of the four kitchen chairs have been scoured as well. Papyrus is sitting in his booster seat on one of them. He keeps looking around the room and frowning.

“When did you get up?” Gaster asks. There are three place settings laid out on the sterilized table, accompanied by a full butter dish and a bottle of syrup. Gaster didn’t know he had a bottle of syrup. He chooses one and takes a seat.

“I wasn’t tired last night, so I got started on some chores. Sleep can wait,” Sans says. He’s standing on the missing chair so he can reach the stove. He’s pushing something around the skillet.

Sans has spent the last day and a half in a state of agitation. Gaster finds it doubtful that wouldn’t feel the effects by nightfall. “Aren’t children supposed to sleep at night so they can rest?”

“I don’t need much sleep,” he says, hopping off the chair to collect Gaster’s plate.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Gaster replies. He watches as Papyrus makes a quiet noise and starts patting his own face. “Where did all this come from?”

“Just wanted to be nice,” Sans says, flipping something onto the plate and bringing it back. It’s a small stack of pancakes.

“I appreciate that, but this is a deviation from the established pattern. Can I ask what brought it on?”

Sans returns to the table with a cup of applesauce for Papyrus, who seems to like fruit-based foods best. “It’s the right thing to do.”

“I see,” Gaster says uncertainly. He looks around his immaculate kitchen and into his freshly cleansed living room, and at the breakfast on his plate. Each piece of information is examined in turn: Sans, who is eight years old and short for his age, is feeding Papyrus, who is being an unusually neat eater and seems to be watching Sans’ face extremely closely.

Gaster picks up his fork. Sans drops Papyrus’ spoon. 

Children don’t behave like this. 

Sans’ plate is empty. Even though Gaster can see more pancake batter in the bowl, Sans has only made breakfast for Gaster and Papyrus.

Gaster cuts a square from the pancake stack. It’s very good.

Donahue said the children were afraid of someone.

Sans is acting unduly nonchalant. He’s trying to pretend he isn’t watching Gaster’s reaction, but his attention is very firmly on Gaster’s movements and there’s a slight tremble in his hands.

The apartment is exceedingly clean. Children are supposed to be messy. Why did Sans learn to clean to these standards?

“Are they okay?” Sans asks.

Gaster doesn’t know the right answer. He doesn’t know how to answer this.

The tension is interrupted by the phone. The last time Gaster felt this relieved, it was at the hazardous materials lab after containing a volatile chemical leak.

“Excuse me a moment,” he says. It’s a struggle, but he manages to keep from sprinting to answer the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey doc,” Lietenant Donahue says from the other end of the line, “It’s Donnie. I wanted to talk about swinging by to measure the kid’s magic abilities this afternoon.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” He lowers his voice, “I was going to call but I don’t have your card on hand.”

“Is everything okay?”

“It is not,” he confirms quietly, “I don’t know much about children but I do know they’re not inclined to clean until you could hypothetically eat off the floor.”

“What? Is Sans doing that?”

“Yes! He just started cooking and cleaning after you left and I don’t know why. He’s actually quite good at it, but this seems like a considerable deviation from average child behavior.”

Donahue sighs. It crackles in the phone’s receiver. “Yeah, it is. I wanted to do the tests today, but I think I’ll ask about the chores first. What brought this on?”

Gaster glances back at the table. Sans and Papyrus pretend they weren’t trying to listen in on the conversation. “I don’t know that either.”

“Right. I’ll be there in forty-five minutes.”

-

Donahue talks with Sans in the bedroom, which turns out to be just as meticulously cleaned as the rest of the house. Gaster waits in the sitting room; the door is open, but they speak quietly enough that he can’t make out the exchange. Sans seems reluctant to talk at first, but begins to carry the conversation after some gentle prompting. He sounds matter-of-fact, and more than a little worried.

Gaster once had an assistant who began work at the lab with a similar reluctance to speak until spoken to. Donahue would have done a better job handling them than he did.

After a long, quiet hour, Lieutenant Donahue emerges from the bedroom. “Got a proposition for you, doc,” she says.

“Yes?”

“Rooming contract. I’m going to help the three of you draw up document that clearly outlines what’s expected of Sans and Papyrus in exchange for their living here.”

“What?” Gaster says, “Don’t be absurd, they don’t have to—”

“Doc,” Donahue says, taking a seat across from him on the newly repaired sitting room couch. She looks grim. “Remember when I said something happened to these kids? Sans thinks you’re going to throw them out if they don’t pull their own weight.”

“What?”

“We talked it over. Apparently there were ‘consequences’ for not finishing chores back home.”

Gaster is at a loss for words.

Donahue puts a hand on her shoulder. “It’s a short term fix. Long term, I’m hoping to get him into counseling to figure this stuff out, but having a contract in writing will give Sans a sense of security.”

“And what do you propose I negotiate for,” Gaster snaps, “Clean floors? Folded laundry? A sense of safety in their own home?”

“That’s exact what I propose,” Donhue says firmly. “These kids come from somewhere that taught them rights are for other people. All they know is the arbitration of services for basic needs. You’re not demanding any services, so they don’t have any guarantee you won’t withhold food or shelter.”

Gaster gapes some more.

“I know this seems like re-enforcing the problem, but right now the only way we have to communicate with these kids is using the language they already know; as long as they’re operating under this framework, they’re going to be too busy scrambling for safety to work out that they don’t deserve to be punished for being kids.”

Gaster glances to the bedroom, where Sans is trying not to look like he’s listening in. Papyrus is held close to his chest and openly staring at the back of Donahue’s head.

“I don’t like this,” Gaster says, looking at the two scared children hiding in his room.

“Me neither,” Donahue agrees.

He looks at the hand on his shoulder, then back to Donahue. “I’m sure I can find something for them to do.”

-

It takes the rest of the morning to hammer out the details of the rooming contract. The final agreement states that Gaster will provide room, clothing, food, and other necessities in exchange for Sans dusting the shelves, taking the Magicks and Abilities Evaluation test, and attending weekly counseling sessions at a location to be selected at a later time. Donahue managed to haggle down from Sans’ current level of cleanliness to the more constructive version of the contract, and performs the MAE test immediately after the settlement is printed and signed.

Gaster took the Purple MAE as a ghost, and again when he gained solid form. It involved trapping an artificial soul on his lines, and draining artifical karma from a volunteer target. The Blue MAE also includes an artificial soul, but requires Sans to demonstrate his control over it at varying difficulties. Donahue tests him on precision, power, and resistance to outside influence. Unsurprisingly, the test results indicate that while Sans and Papyrus have can generate an unusually high amount of force at an extraordinary level of accuracy for their age. However, it’s well within the royal lab’s on-site tolerances, which designates Gaster’s office as the site for their weekly counseling sessions. Donahue clears them for visits, and arranges to have permanent Family of Employee badges for them.

After one long nap (to recover from several long days), they go to they go to the front desk for the badges. Sans repeatedly reads the title next to his picture.

“We’re not family,” he says.

“I suppose not, but I am your legal guardian for the time being. It’s probably the closest description they could come up with,” Gaster says, attaching the badge to the back of Papyrus’ onesie where he can’t get his hands on it. Papyrus ends up crawling in circles trying to see it.

Sans picks Papyrus up to keep him from falling off the visitor’s desk. He reads Papyrus’ badge, then at his own badge, then finally says, “Okay,” and clips it to the front of his jacket.

Donahue suggested that spending time outside the apartment would be good for the kids, but that shifting to an after-hours schedule would decrease the risk of overstimulating them. The lab’s halls are as empty as the first night, and they make it to Gaster’s office with minimal contact. Sans immediately sets up camp in the back corner of the room. He closes the door, sets down Papyrus, unzips his backpack (generously provided by Gerald in his last shopping excursion) and stacks the various books and snacks on the floor. Gaster, similarly, extracts a report from his briefcase and settles into his desk.

The both start to read. The room is quiet for approximately fifteen seconds before Papyrus squirms out of Sans’ arms and begins to crawl around.

Gaster watches him between sentences. Papyrus explores the area thoroughly, starting with the upholstered couch Gaster uses as guest seating. When the underside and each leg have been fully inspected, he grabs a corner and pulls himself to his feet and begin the short journey to the adjacent armchair. From there, he walks haltingly to Gaster’s desk. It’s almost in reach when he begins to stumble and he grabs Gaster’s pant leg for balance.

Seemingly surprised by this turn of events, Papyrus looks up to see what he’s holding. Gaster looks down as he twists the fabric between his fingers. “Hello there,” he says.

Papyrus beams. He makes a loud, high-pitched noise that doesn’t sound upset and starts tugging on Gaster’s pants.

“I don’t know what that means,” Gaster says. “Sans, what does he mean?”

He finds Sans staring at him. Sans has a look of concentration tinged with disbelief, like he’s weighing factors and can’t believe how they’re turning out. The night Gaster found two children in a hedge, Sans stared at him as he struggled with deciding whether or not to run; today, he seems to be struggling with something similar.

Gaster waits.

Finally, after several long moments, Sans says, “He wants you to pick him up.”

Gaster looks to where Papyrus is still tugging at his pants, then slowly reaches down and lifts him to eye level. He’s extremely light, with nothing but his skeletal structure contributing to his weight. Papyrus kicks his feet a few times and surveys the office from this new vantage point.

“Is this what you wanted?” Gaster asks.

“Not like that,” says Sans, who has suddenly appeared at Gaster’s shoulder, “Like this.”

He rearranges Gaster’s arms so that Papyrus is settled against one elbow and his head is supported by the opposite hand. He then demonstrates how to properly rock a baby and impresses the importance of never leaving their heads unsupported, “Because the weight of Paps’ head could break his neck if you’re not careful.”

“That’s alarming,” Gaster says, carefully adjusting Papyrus in his arms.

“Just be careful,” Sans warns. He doesn’t move away, but he also doesn’t take Papyrus back.

Papyrus gurgles and tries to grab Gaster’s badge, which is clipped onto the lapel of his lab coat. Sans intercepts his tiny hand with his own, and lets Papyrus chew on his phalanges instead of the possibly hazardous plastic card.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” Gaster asks.

“A little, but not too bad. And with my hand, there’s no danger that something will break off and choke him.”

“There are toys made specifically to be chewed, you know. Gerald got some.”

Sans winces when Papyrus clamps down particularly hard. “How do you know they’re safe? It just says they’re made of “plastic” on the box, there isn’t a list of chemical components. Toys don’t exactly come with ingredient lists.”

It’s not a bad point. “Why don’t you research it? I’m sure there are plenty of resources in the library about polymers.”

Sans flinches when Papyrus bites the space between his first and second knuckles. “Yeah, that sounds good. It’d be great to get him chewing on something else.”

-

They move to the library once Papyrus is detached from Gaster’s shirt and Sans’ hand. This takes some time.

It’s as quiet as the first time they visited. The library is large, imposing, and in some places inadequately lit. Sans drops off his returns and walks past the front desk to the card catalog without engaging with Mr. Alphys. Gaster makes small talk to smooth things over (“They’re certainly self-sufficient for children.” “Oh yes, they are.”) before following him into the stacks. Letting a child explore a large area like the library without adult supervision doesn’t seem like a safe thing to do.

Sans leads Papyrus by the hand, going slowly so his toddler-sized legs can keep up, and chooses several books about the plastic-making process. Gaster has apparently passed some sort of child handling certification, because Sans lets Papyrus walk slowly back and forth between the two of them as he adds books to his pile.

Gaster makes a heroic effort to watch the children he’s currently taking care of, but a new text on the properties of polyethylene terephthalate catches his eye and he pulls it from the shelf to leaf through, and the next thing he knows Sans and Papyrus have disappeared further into the library and he’s a terrible guardian. Gaster sighs heavily, putting the book back as punishment for his folly, and complies a list of the most likely places two children might be.

Luckily, he checks the children’s section first. Papyrus is crawling on a puzzle carpet while Sans speaks with a small yellow lizard. She’s holding a small rectangular book, and is sitting on the child-sized seat next to a towering stack of similar rectangular books.

“I’m not interested if they’re just pictures,” he says.

“First, they’re not pictures, they’re art,” the lizard girl replies, “And second, adding a visual medium is the only way to ensure you’re effectively communicating the story to your reader.”

“Pictures in a book are a waste of time and space. Except the ones for babies,” Sans amends with an apologetic look towards Papyrus.

“Muwah,” Papyrus says from where he’s sitting.

Gaster comes out from the stacks with a smile. “There you are!”

The lizard girl starts. The book goes flying out of her hand and knocks the tower off-balance; it sways dangerously.   
image

She squeaks and throws both arms over his head as books come crashing down, scattering across the table and floor.

“Oh,” Gaster says he takes in the mess, “I’m sorry.”

“N-no, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have— I’m so sorry!” She says desperately, launching herself across the floor to grab the books.

“It’s alright,” Gaster says in what he hopes is a reassuring tone. He crosses the space to help the cleaning effort, “No harm done, see? Sans, would you help us gather these back up?”

Papyrus claps his hands in delight. Sans, who grabbed Papyrus the moment the book tower lost stability, gingerly sets him back down. “I didn’t do it,” he grumbles, but starts collecting books off the floor anyway.

The three of them stack the books back up on the table. They’re slightly more battered, but no worse for wear. Gaster looks one over as he handles it. It’s a black-and-white graphic novel that depicts humans with huge eyes and hands, and seems to be written in Japanese.

“These are… interesting,” he says.

“Please don’t tell my dad I was reading them,” the lizard girl says, “He’ll think I was wasting my time.”

“You were,” Sans says.

“I wasn’t! I really like these stories, and they’re not as d-dangerous as everyone says. Just because they’re about humans d-doesn’t mean they’re bad.”

“I don’t even know who your father is, and even if I did, I certainly wouldn’t presume to know anything about your relationship with him,” Gaster says gently. “It’s alright.”

The girl is taking great, heaving breaths, and her eyes are very wet. “Th-ank you.”

“My name is Gaster, and this is my… charge, Sans,” he says with a gesture backwards. Sans makes another grumbling noise and doesn’t introduce himself further.

“N-nice to meet you. My name is Aubrey Alphys,” she says stiffly.

Gaster, who has learned social interaction one piece at a time, recognizes this as rote memorization of a conversational greeting. He appreciates the pains she must have taken to learn it. “We were about to get some books from this area, do you mind?”

“Um. No?” She says, “It’s not my area.”

“Not officially, I suppose, but you were here first and I believe it’s customary to concede authority to the person who’s been in a space for the longest amount of time.”

“That’s true,” Aubrey agrees. “Yes, please take whatever you need.”

“I was going to do that anyway,” Sans mutters under his breath.

Gaster watches the exchange. Both Gerald and Donahue have said that Sans appears to be vastly undersocialized, and have suggested finding adolescent children for him to play with. He begins to form an idea. “Sans,” he says tentatively, “Why don’t I walk with Papyrus to choose some new books, and you and Aubrey can talk about what’s she’s reading?”

“That sounds like a lovely idea,” says someone from the stacks.

Alphys steps out from between the shelves. Aubrey squeaks again. Sans grabs Papyrus and puts Gaster between himself and the newcomer.

“Aubrey, what have I told you about reading human stories,” Alphys says sternly.

Aubrey shrinks into herself and avoids eye contact.

“Oh, are you Aubrey’s father?” Gaster asks? “I should have guessed.”

“She takes after her mother. It would be good for her to have someone her own age to play with,” Alphys says, returning his attention to Gaster and the children hiding behind him.

“I was thinking something similar,” Gaster says, placing a hand on Sans’ shoulder, “I’ll be working in the evenings for the foreseeable future, perhaps we could put arrange for them to spend some time together.”

“What a marvelous idea!” Alphys says with a wide smile.

Sans holds tight to the back of Gaster’s coat. Gaster squeezes his shoulder and starts slowly edging towards the front desk. “We have to get going. It was nice to meet you, Aubrey.”

“Nice to meet you, too” Aubrey says quietly.

“Come back any time!” Alphys says with a wave.

Sans is silent until the library doors close behind them. “I don’t want to spend time with either of them,” he says.

“Why not? You’re a child, and Aubrey appears to be a child. Surely you would be able to find common ground.”

“She’s nine and she reads picture books. What kind of nine-year-old reads picture books?”

“You could ask,” Gaster replies. They take the long way back to his office to avoid further contact. The children have already filled their recommended daily quota of social interaction. “Maybe she has a very good reason for enjoying picture books.”

Sans sticks his tongue out. Papyrus copies him and starts to laugh. Sans grins, “I got all I need right here,” he says.

Gaster watches the skeleton children make faces at each other all the way back to the office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the players of this story have now been introduced (in FIVE CHAPTERS, WOW). As a heads up, things are about to go downhill for these guys. Children and the faint of heart, you have been warned.
> 
> Slightly illustrated version available at [Spinach Productions](http://spinach-productions.tumblr.com/post/158795286176/baby-spinach-chapter-5). There is one illustration. Do not get your hopes up.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A month in vignettes.

**Week 1**

_Monday_

Sans finishes his stack of books before early-evening second nap and requests a trip to the library to get new ones. He gives a run-down of the properties of various plastics on the way there. “While the current regulation standards aren’t what I’d like them to be, the materials commonly used in children’s toys are both durable and nontoxic enough that I’d feel comfortable buying some,” he says, “In summary, I want to go with Gerald next time he goes shopping and pick out some stuff for Paps.”

Gaster looks at Sans in surprise. “You _want_ to go somewhere with Gerald?”

He shrugs and doesn’t return eye contact. “I let you hold Paps once,” he says, hoisting the sleeping toddler higher in his arms, “Doesn’t get much less logical than that.”

The three of them trek through the library. It’s early enough that there are still a few daytime employees milling about. Sans deftly avoids each one on his way to the section on magicks and their properties, while Gaster wanders off to browse the new books section. He’s skimming a new text on the latest findings produced by the inorganic materials lab when an indignant shout cuts across the library.

He finds the source in the children’s section, where Sans and Aubrey are having an loud discussion about the fiction of science.

“It is _too_ possible,” Aubrey says, stomping her foot to give emphasis, “And even if it’s not, it’s a _story_. It’s not supposed to be exactly like real life.”

“It’s not even trying to be like real life! Ghosts don’t happen like that,” Sans yells back.

“It’s how humans think ghosts happen!”

“It doesn’t matter what humans think happens. The way the world actually works isn’t up for debate.” He sees Gaster lurking around the corner of a bookshelf. “Dings, tell her that ghosts don’t happen when someone dies!”

Gaster glances around the section to see who they’re talking to, then back to Sans. “Did you mean me?”

“You can’t call in your dad for help,” Aubrey yells.

“He’s not—”

“And what do you know, anyway? Maybe human ghosts happen that way,” Aubrey says. She turns pointedly to her book. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I want to finish this before dinner.”

Sans throws his hands in the air. “Fine! Finish your incorrect picture book! I’m sure it’ll be satisfying when you find out that _you and that book are both wrong!_ ”

Gaster cautiously enter the children’s section. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, fine. Peachy,” Sans grumbles, scooping up Papyrus from a beanbag chair, where he’s somehow managed to sleep through the yelling.

The emotional level of an argument has bewildered Gaster on more many different occassions. This one is a new subject, but the same old helpless confusion. He reaches out to put a hand on Sans’ shoulders, but given Sans’ distance for touch, decides to pull back before completing the action. “Perhaps we can find Papyrus a new book another time,” he says gently.

“Yeah,” Sans agrees, burying his face in Papyrus’ onesie, “It stinks in here right now.”

Gaster feels himself make a pinched face, but lets the subject drop as they move away from the children’s section.

-

_Tuesday_

Gaster sets up a cot in the corner of his office for Early Evening Naptime. It’s heaped with scratchy wool blankets and emergency-grade pillows found in various corners of the facility, but Sans and Papyrus still seem happy to burrow in. Gaster dims the overhead lights in favor of his small desk lamp and begins shuffling through papers.

He’s just starting the first paragraph when he feels eyes on his back. Sure enough, both Sans and Papyrus are watching him from under the blanket pile.

“Ahh,” says Papyrus.

“Yes?” Gaster asks.

“Nothing,” Sans says. He looks for a moment longer, then retreats into the nest.

-

_Thursday_

“Thank you for meeting with me” says Doctor Anne Snowdrake as she shakes Gaster’s hand. Her feathered hands are cool to the touch. “Please, have a seat. May I offer you some coffee? Or tea?”

Gaster recognizes the hot beverage ritual. He’s pleased to be part of it. “Tea, please.”

They continue through a few pleasantries as the water boils. Doctor Snowdrake has been briefed on the children’s case, and plan to start Sans on art therapy in his upcoming appointment. “My goal is to give him a sense of control over the situation, and to validate and normalize his reactions about it. We’re probably not going to get far in this first session,” she warns.

“I understand,” Gaster says.

The electric kettle clicks off. Doctor Snowdrake pours them some earl grey, her own settling over a cup full of ice, then settles back into her chair. “Some of why I wanted to meet with you today is to see how you’re doing about all this.”

Gaster frowns. “Me?”

“Yes. In the past week, you’ve essentially become a first time parent for two unusual circumstances children. I want to make sure you have enough resoures and support to care for them without putting yourself under too much strain.”

He recognizes the wordage from Donahue’s speech to the children. “I see. Well, I’ve been lucky enough to have help from my assistant, and Lieutenant Donahue has been extrememly knowledgable about the children.”

“And yourself?” She asks, taking a sip, stirring sugar into her cooling tea.

“I… am not sure. I hadn’t thought of it as parenting until you brought it up.”

Doctor Snowdrake smiles. “It’s not like there’s a certification course or anything. All any parent can do is their best, and it sounds like you’re doing just that. Would you like some recommended readings on child care? I have a few specifically for how to be supportive of troubled children.”

Gaster has logged over four hours in the library in previous week alone. He silently chides himself for not thinking to look for materials in that time. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

 

**Week 2**

_Monday_

“It’s just,” Sans says from under today’s blanket pile, “Aren’t you ever tired?”

Gaster reflects on his sleeping habits. “Sometimes. I do tend to forget to rest until I’ve accrued a sizeable sleep debt.”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you sleep.”

“I sleep when you do.”

“You don’t sleep during the day,” Sans points out. “Maybe it would be easier to remember if you slept whenever we do, not just through part of the night.”

“That seems like a lot of rest.”

“Have you ever tried getting ‘a lot of rest’?”

Gaster frowns. “I supposed I haven’t.”

“Do—” Sans pauses. He seems to be considering his next words carefully. “I’ve got more than enough pillows to keep Paps from rolling off the bed. Do you want one?”

Gaster looks at the reports and studies spread across his desk. The clock says it’s early enough that he could, conceivably, take a short break without encroaching on his deadlines. “Yes,” he says, relocating to the couch, “That sounds very nice.”

-

The next time they visit the library, Gaster leads them straight to the children’s section where Aubrey is pouring over a sketchbook.

“No,” Sans hisses.

“Yes,” Gaster insists.

“I didn’t _do_ anything!”

“You hurt her feelings. Even if you didn’t mean to, that’s enough to warrant an apology.”

Sans stuffs his hands in his pockets. “She hurt my feelings, too.”

“Either she’ll also apologize, which would assuage your feelings, or she won’t, which will prove you’re the bigger person. You’ll feel better either way.”

Sans kicks a bookshelf and huffs loudly, but still shuffles into the main area. Aubrey looks up at the intrusion, and scowls when she recognizes him. “What do you want?”

“I’m,” Sans says, resolutely looking at everything but Aubrey, “Sorry for saying the stuff you liked way dumb. Just because it’s not strictly accurate doesn’t mean it’s bad.”

Aubrey’s eyes narrow with suspicion. Gaster hovers awkwardly behind a bookcase. He crosses his fingers for a positive outcome.

“Okay,” she says. “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

Gaster lets out a sigh of relief. The children regard each other.

“What are you drawing?” Sans asks.

He leaves the children to discuss the merits of Aubrey’s preferred art style.

-

_Wednesday_

Doctor Snowdrake has an impressive array of print cuttings scattered across her child-sized coffee table. The room has been re-arranged, putting her desk by the far wall to give more space for the short table and pillow seat surrounding it. A playpen has been set up just beyond arm’s reach of the pillows.

“Good evening,” she says they come in for their appointment.

“Good evening, doctor,” Gaster replies.

Sans has one hand stuffed into his pocket in what Gaster has come to recognize as a nervous gesture; Papyrus, who decided he wanted to practice walking today, is holding tight to the other as he toddles along, looking around the office with open curiosity. Sans is glaring at a spot on the back of Gaster’s pant leg.

“Thank you for having us,” Gaster continues. When in doubt, he likes to fall back on good manners.

“Thank you for coming. Won’t you have a seat, everyone?”

Sans reluctantly walks Papyrus to the playpen and lifts him inside. When he doesn’t let go of Papyrus’ hand, Gaster gently pries his fingers open and slides his own hand between them. Sans holds on tightly.

“It’s alright,” he says quietly.

“I know,” Sans says without looking away from Papyrus or letting go.

Gaster seat them on the same side of the table. Doctor Snowdrake takes the opposite side. “Good evening, Sans. My name is Anne.”

“I thought you were Doctor Snowdrake,” Sans mumbles.

“That’s my official title, but it feels too formal sometimes.”

“Gaster doesn’t call you _Anne_.”

“I believe Gaster— may I call you Gaster? Falls back on manner when he’s nervous.”

Sans stops examining the table to look incredulously at Gaster. “You’re nervous?”

“Yes,” Gaster admits.

“Why are _you_ nervous? I’m the one doing the tests.”

“I’m nervous because I know how apprehensive you are, and I don’t like it when you’re uncomfortable.”

“Then why do I have to do this? And what’s with the pictures?”

“I cut them out from a variety of magazines and newspapers,” Doctor Snowdrake says, neatly sidestepping the first question, “They’re for you to put together into a collage.”

Sans picks one up. It’s a neatly trimmed photo of an aquatic woman wearing a fashionable blazer and heels. She bears a slight resemblance to Lieutenant Donahue. “What am I supposed to make?”

“Something that relates to the situation, please,” she says, adjusting her glasses, “It can be anything you want.”

He sets the Donahue-lookalike to the side and begins shuffling through the pile. “What if I want to put words together into a menu?”

“As long as it relates to the situation, that’d be fine.”

“What if I recreate a picture I’ve seen before?”

“Same thing.”

Sans finally looks at Doctor Snowdrake to make a face at her. “You’re saying I can make _anything._ ”

“That’s right.”

His eyes narrow suspiciously. Doctor Snowdrake watches with calm and patience. The room feels apprehensive.

Finally, Sans looks back to the pile of clippings. He begins sifting through the papers, setting pieces he likes into a separate stack. Gaster frowns as the words ‘lacking’, ‘protect’, ‘insufficient’, and ‘too good’ are selected. He glances at Doctor Snowdrake, who’s also watching Sans’ progress. She doesn’t seem worried, but Gaster posits that she’s been trained not to show judgement in this kind of situation.

Sans starts gluing pieces to a large sheet of paper. The negative words are arranged in a circle on the left side of the page, while the positive ones go in a circle on the right side. Once the two circles are finished, Sans starts going through the pile again. He tosses rejected pieces aside with agitation, spilling the clippings off the table until he finds one he likes. Sans looks at it for a long time. His empty hand curls into a fist against the table, but the piece is held gently in the other.

“Sans,” Doctor Snowdrake asks, “Who is that?”

He glances at her without putting the paper down. “Nothing leaves this room, right? You’ve got a code of ethics?”

“As long as people aren’t actively being hurt, things will stay between us. Is anyone being hurt, Sans?”

“No,” he says, looking back to the paper in his hand, “Not anymore.”

He takes the scissors and carefully cuts a piece of the picture off, then puts it between and slightly above the two circles without gluing it down and grabs a black marker and scribbles a large dark patch between the two circles. The picture is a black and white photograph of a scientist in uniform. Sans has cut the head off, leaving a faceless figure wearing a lab coat and tie, and draws in two eyes and a mouth. He runs a finger around the picture’s edges.

“Sans,” she says gently, “Who is that?”

“It’s Dings,” Sans says. He looks at Gaster and gives a tentative smile.

Gaster smiles back.

She gestures to the black scribble in the middle of the page. It covers the space between the two circles and most of the empty space at the bottom of the page. “And who is that?”

Sans looks away from the picture. His eyes land on Papyrus, who is has fallen asleep in the playpen. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Would it be alright if we talked about it another time?”

Sans looks up at Gaster. Gaster can’t read the expression on his face. He puts a hand on Sans’ shoulder for support.

“Yeah,” Sans says, “Okay.”

-

_Thursday_

As per their rooming agreement, Sans sweeps and mops the floors twice a month.  Today he cleans them to a shine.  The contact states that his reward is ‘food and housing’, which Gaster interprets by giving him hot chocolate once the job is done.

 

**Week 3**

_Tuesday_

Papyrus slips away before Sans finishes his early evening nap. Ten frantic minutes of searching finds him showing off his rudimentary dancing abilities to a knot of night employees. Despite Sans’ audible tooth-grinding, Gaster can’t help but find it charming.

-

_Thursday_

Sans is just as anxious during the second meeting with Doctor Snowdrake. He settles Papyrus into the playpen and follows Gaster back to the short table, where last week’s collage is laid out next to another pile of magazine cuttings.

“Thank you for coming,” Doctor Snowdrake says. “I appreciate it.”

“I have to,” Sans mutters.

“You could have run away, or outright refused. The fact that you came here even though you didn’t want to means a lot to me.”

Sans glares at the tabletop and doesn’t answer.

“Would you like to continue this picture, or make another one?” She asks.

Sans chooses to make a new picture. As he works, Doctor Snowdrake pulls Gaster to the side to discuss her thoughts on the first one. “I’d like to talk about that first collage with Sans at some point, but it was more of a diagnostic than anything else. Frankly, I’d rather not dive right into things.”

Gaster nods. “May I ask what the diagnostic revealed?”

“Not much you didn’t already know,” Doctor Snowdrake says with a sigh, “The two circles seem to represent the two children, with one filled with ‘bad’ traits and the other filled with ‘good’ traits. It’s not hard to guess which is which.”

Sadly, it isn’t.

“What’s poignant is the kind of ‘bad’ traits Sans chose. They seem to imply inadequacy, like something about Sans isn’t good enough. I’d be willing to guess that the black mass at the bottom of the page is where he learned that.”

“Doctor,” Gaster says quietly, “Do you see cases like this often?”

“More often than I’d like,” she says.

“How does this… happen? What kind of person does this to a child?”

Doctor Snowdrake takes a moment to choose her words. “Each case is different. If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say that someone had big plans for these kids, and that at some point, Sans fell short.” She folds her wings across her chest. “Some parents forget that their children aren’t extensions of themselves, and the children pay the price for it.”

Gaster grapples with the idea. It takes a moment to sort out his thoughts. “The reading you recommended suggests that the goal of parenting is to raise children to become individuals. Are you suggesting Sans’ and Papyrus’ parents _forgot_ that?”

“Some people never even learn that.”

Gaster is at a complete loss for words.

Doctor Snowdrake smiles sympathetically. “It can be disquieting. But the important thing is that the children are here now, not wherever they came from. We can begin to undo some of this damage.”

He glances between Sans, who is gluing figures onto a new piece of paper, and Papyrus, who is chewing on his own hand. “That’s very true,” Gaster agrees.

-

_Friday_

Gerald forces Sans to wear a scarf on their shopping excursion. “It’s getting cold, you know.”

“Gaster doesn’t make me wear a scarf,” Sans says, batting Geralds arms to make him stop tying the scraf into place.

“Gaster doesn’t have biological nerve endings, so he doesn’t know that cold is bad for you.”

“That’s true,” Gaster agrees. “This turtleneck is just for show.”

They choose mid-morning to wander around the mercantile district in hopes of avoiding crowds. The first stop is an infant’s toy store for some desperately needed toys; Sans weighs the benefits of several options before choosing a utilitarian teething ring and a soft blue elephant. Papyrus shows his approval by latching on to both and refuses to let go.

Next stop is a big-box housing store for a better office blanket. In a stroke of genius, Gerald digs through the children’s section until he turns up a comforter with a space-inspired patterned stitched into the squares.

“I want that,” Sans says immediately.

They find a matching pillow set, and hidden in the clearance section is a second comforter decorated with the periodic table of elements. The last time Gaster spent money on something so decorative was when Gerald implemented the ‘no more books in stacks on the floor, Wings, you’re an adult’ policy and he was forced to purchase a bookcase. That was to organize his home; this is to make his space into a shared space. Gaster watches Sans run a hand over the new blankets, and feels a warm emotion unfurl in the center of his torso.

 

**Week 4**

_Wednesday_

Gaster removes his shoes and lays down on the couch with a yawn. Despite his short tenure on the Early Evening Naptime participation list, he’s become accustomed to sleeping between 7 and 8 p.m. The children have been kind enough to loan him one of the new, soft blankets from their pile.

“Sleep well,” Gaster says, pulling the blanket over his shoulders.

“You too,” Sans says.

An easy quiet settles over the office. It’s not the anxious quiet that followed Sans home the first night or the apprehensive quiet he occasionally takes on when new people are present, but a peaceful one that means the room is secure and the children are comfortable.

Gaster enjoys it for an indeterminate amount of time until something folds his blanket back. He cracks one eye open as Papyrus crawls up onto his chest. Sans, who presumably lifted Papyrus into place, climbs up and pokes Gaster until he makes enough room for Sans to slide between him and the back of the sofa. Papyrus scoots over until he can lay between them.

Sans pulls the blanket over everyone. It’s a bit cramped, but very warm.

“Sleep well,” Sans says, tucking Papyrus under his arm.

Gaster wriggles an arm out from under Sans and places it on his shoulder. “You too.”

-

_Friday_

They pack up everything after dinner and head to the library for Sans and Aubrey’s twice-weekly meet-up. Gaster hesitates to call it a ‘play date’, since they don’t seem to play and the library would hardly be a suitable space for it anyway. Instead, the children compare notes on what they consider to be possible and impossible in fiction while Gaster conducts research on a separate table. Both Doctor Snowdrake and Donahue think this is excellent progress on Sans’ part, and Gaster is inclined to agree; watching him interact with someone in his own age bracket is extremely gratifying.

Today’s topic seems to be how physics operates in space. Personally, Gaster thinks that Aubrey’s ideas about aliens are overly romantic, but keeps his opinions to himself as the children discuss how alien life might develop in different environments. Alphys has decided to sit in on the meeting this evening, causing Aubrey to glance over when she begins to describe one of her more creative ideas. Gaster attempts to draw Alphys into a conversation about the library’s collection to give the children some privacy, but Alphys continues to watch them between exchanges.

Halfway through Alphys’ thoughts on whether the library should begin developing its section on the Human Wars, one of the interns slides out from behind a bookshelf and crosses to Gaster’s (very short) table without disturbing either conversation. “Excuse me, doctor,” she says quietly, “But there I’m getting some unusual readings from the determination experiments. Doctor Colorata is already checking the setup, but he wanted to call you in due to their delicate nature.”

It’s a good call. The determination experiments aren’t dangerous enough to sound an alarm, but if they’ve become unstable, there might not be much time before they become unsalvageable. Gaster quickly calculates how dangerous the containment might be. The answer lands on ‘unsafe for Sans and Papyrus’, but he’d prefer not to leave them alone for the duration of the repairs and recalibration process.

Alphys seems to be thinking along the same lines. “Do you think this will be a quick fix,” he asks the intern.

“Doctor Colorata isn’t sure.”

He turns to Gaster. “I can watch the children until you get back. Go, quickly.”

Gaster thanks him and follows the intern back to the hazardous materials lab, where Gerald is trying to find the problem. The experiment is designed to observe the properties of distilled forms of magic under different circumstances to see which most closely resemble human Determination, with the hopes of one day finding a synthetic compound able to mimic it. The King has hopes Determination will be the key to breaking through the barrier.

It takes the three of them the better part of an hour to comb thorough the experiment for errors. Finally, Gerald finds it: one of the fourteen exhaust valves has been left partially shut. Gaster reopens the valve, allowing the pressure to exit the system with a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. That could have been disastrous.”

“Yes,” Gerald says, examining the valve closely. He presses on it with increasing pressure until it begins to move.

“I’m glad we found it.”

He continues to look at the piping around the valve. “Gaster, do you remember closing this?”

“Of course not. The valves have to remain open at all times.”

“I don’t either, and I’m certain Manny wouldn’t have closed this, would you Manny?”

The intern agrees that _she would never_.

“That’s impossible, we’re the only three people on the project. One of us must have made a mistake.”

“Perhaps,” Gerald says slowly, “But this was an extremely convenient mistake. In fact, I think it’s the only one that would have given us advanced warning before the experiment began to degrade.”

“You’re not suggesting sabotage.”

“It does sound unlikely,” Gerald admits, “But I don’t want to rule it out. I want to file a report with the guard.”

Gaster has enough experience to trust Gerald’s intuition over his own annoyance, even when there’s no way he could be right, and agrees to co-write the report after checking in with Alphys and the children. But there was no one else on the project, he grumbles as he makes his way back to the library, which means no one else had the detailed knowledge to cause a problem like this. “It simply isn’t possible,” he says as pushes the library doors open.

The library is quiet this time of night. He doesn’t meet anyone as he makes his way to the children’s section. “Absolutely preposterous,” he says, rounding the corner to the open space with the short tables and colorful carpet.

And no Alphys.

And no children?

Gaster searches the adjacent stacks, then heads to the front desk in case he missed Alphys on the way in. But there’s no one at circulation. Gaster considers his options with a rising sense of panic: if Alphys had to abandon his post without even locking up, something serious must have happened. At least if the children aren’t here, they’re with someone who can take care of them, he reassures himself. So the next logical step is to get in contact with the guard and see what happened in his absence.

He hurries behind the desk and grabs a directory next to the phone, knocking a few binders to the ground in the process. They knock the chair off kilter, making a loud clanging noise against the metal footrest; something behind him makes a startled noise.

Gaster freezes. Everything is quiet. He looks over his shoulder to find a small cupboard space, presumably for the librarian on shift to store their personal items. The startled noise sounded familiar.

He approaches the cupboard and leans in, listening closely. Something is breathing inside.

“Aubrey?” he asks.

“Doctor Gaster!” Aubrey wails, “Let me out, let me out _let me out let me out—”_

Gaster ransacks the desk until he finds a ring of keys, and fumbles through them until one fits the door. The moment the lock clicks open, Aubrey bursts out of the cupboard and begins sobbing into Gaster’s sweater.

“I’m so glad you’re alright,” he says, trying to provide a measure of comfort by holding her, “Aubrey, what happened? Where’s your father—”

“ _He’s gone,”_ Aubrey cries.

Gaster once heard a feeling of dread described as ‘feeling the bottom drop out of one’s stomach’. He doesn’t, technically, have a stomach, but would easily equate his current sensations to misplacing an integral part of his own body. Because Aubrey is saying there’s no Alphys.

“Dad took Sans and Papyrus, he _locked me in a closet he’s gone, he’s gone!_ ”

And no children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The plot thickens._


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The authorities are called in. Gaster has 3 coffees and gets in a fight.

Lieutenant Donahue is the guard on duty when the call comes in.  She secures and cordons off the library, then escorts Aubrey and Gaster to the security office to get their statements.  Gaster calmly relays the events from his perspective to another guard while Donahue speaks gently with Aubrey.  The guard sits with him as they wait for Donahue to finish.

The clock strikes eight.  It’s time for the children’s early evening nap.  Gaster would already be asleep on a normal day, but there’s no point in sleeping because Sans and Papyrus are the ones who need to rest at this time and they’re missing.  They’re gone.  Gaster doesn’t know where they are, or why they were taken.  Will they be able to take their nap?  They’re growing adolescents, their bodies need rest in order to replenish their energy and strengthen their immune systems, but he doesn’t know if they’re going to get enough sleep today because they’re _missing_ and he _doesn’t know where they are._

“Deep breaths, doc,” Donahue says. She’s swapped places with the guard who took Gaster’s statement without him noticing, and is now sitting in the chair across from him.  She looks slightly discolored.  On closer examination, the entire office looks slightly discolored and farther away than when Gaster first sat down.

“I don’t need to breath,” he says. He’s surprised by how faint is own voice sounds.

“Do it anyway,” she insists.

Gaster focuses his attention inward and consciously facilitates the expansion of his chest by pulling air into his mouth.  The empty space fills like a bellows; he holds the facsimile of breath for a moment, then exhales is slowly back out.  Slowly, the world loses its harsh, bright edges and slides back into focus.  Gaster realizes he was shaking in his seat.

“Thank you,” he says after repeating the exercise a few more times with increasingly success, “That’s much better.”

“Usually is,” Donahue says.  She pats his shoulder reassuringly.  “Have you eaten?”

“Lieutenant—”

“Donnie.”

“Donahue, I appreciate your concern, but I’d prefer to eat after you tell me what you’ve found.”

Donahue leans back in her chair, peeling off her vambraces so she can fold both arms over her chest.  The call went out in the middle of training, meaning she and the accompanying guards arrived on the scene in partial Royal Guard armor. “Okay,” she agrees, “Your statement and Aubrey’s match up: after you left the library, Alphys shoved his kid in the closet and disappeared with Sans and Papyrus.  Aubrey says she could hear shouting, but she was too upset to understand what they were saying.  You came back, you let her out, everyone else was gone.”

“What about Gerald, will you talk with him about the experiment?”

“I’ve already called him.”  When did that happen?  “He’s pretty adamant that it’s sabotage.  That would be a great distraction, but do you think Alphys has the background knowledge to do it?”

“I’m finding there’s very little I know for certain about Alphys right now,” Gaster says quietly.

“I’m wondering if he might have had an accomplice,” Donahue wonders aloud, “One person to wreck the experiment and get you out of the library, one to abduct the kids.  Which brings up another question: why didn’t he take his own kid with him?  Why leave her behind?”

Gaster glances across the office to where a third guard is comforting Aubrey.  She has a blanket draped over her shoulders, and is crying silently into a cup of hot chocolate.  Gaster’s metaphorical heart twists painfully at the sight.

“There’s a lot we don’t know right now, doc.  Next step securing a warrant for his apartment to see if we can find anything. Why don’t you call it a night? I’m heading the investigation, so I’ll call you if I find anything.”

“What’s going to happen to her?” Gaster asks, still watching as the guard dries the tears from her face.

“We’ve gotten in contact with her mother.  She’s been doing environmental studies in Hotland for a few months, apparently leaving Aubrey with her dad while she’s away.  She’s pretty shocked about all this,” Donahue says.  She also watches Aubrey for a moment.  “I’m going to keep them in at HQ until we’re sure Alphys isn’t coming back.”

“That sounds wise,” Gaster says. As badly as he wants Alphys to be caught, he doesn’t want to endanger Aubrey or her mother in the process.

Donahue reties her ponytail with an air of finality.  “Go home, doc.  There’s nothing else you can do right now, and I need someone at your apartment in case they come back.”

“You think they’re just going to come home,” Gaster asks skeptically.

“50% of cases like these end in the kids just showing up,” she evades.

“Do you think this is going to be one of those cases?”

“I don’t know.  It’s too early to tell.”

“Lieutenant,” Gaster says, “This is, for all intents and purposes, an abduction case involving my children. Please don’t try to comfort me with false hope.”

She sighs heavily.  “Alright, that’s fair.  Keep in mind that I don’t have any way to prove this.”  She leans in; Gaster follows suit.  “I think someone paid Alphys to grab your kids.”

“ _What?”_

“Keep your voice down,” Donahue hisses, grabbing Gaster’s shoulder to pull him back in, “The only reason I can think of for why Alphys left his own kid behind is because he didn’t want to get her involved.  I think whoever those kids were living with before they struck out on their own hired Alphys to bring them back home.”

“You think,” Gaster grapples with ideas he doesn’t want to explore, “That they’re with their original parents?”

“I think it’s a possibility,” Donahue leans back and resumes her normal volume, “And if that’s the case, they’re going to need you at home.  Go.”

“How can I possibly—”

“Doc, you are a genius of our generation, but you know nothing about this.  Go home.  I’ll call you as soon as I have something.”

Gaster bristles at the implication he would hinder the investigation, but the irritation only lasts for a moment. He truly has nothing more to add here, and further, he is bone-tired.  Sans and Papyrus (his _children_ ) are missing and there is nothing he can do.  Gaster thanks Donahue for her time and shuffles back to the library to gather his things.

The dog guarding hands him his briefcase and coat with a sympathetic glance.  He thanks her and leaves the facility without speaking to anyone else. He uses side hallways and avoids eye contact with other employees, because he simply doesn’t know what to say. It’s a route he’s taken multiple times with the chil— Gaster shakes the familiarity from his head and keeps walking.

Every detail of the route back to his apartment has been manually etched into his memory.  He is well acquainted with every turn and curb, every sidewalk, every crosswalk, all learned so he could read while in transit, but there’s nothing in his briefcase he wants to read today.  Gaster pauses by the bush two skeletons threw him from just six weeks ago.  The shattered lightbulb has yet to be replaced.  Does the city even know that it’s broken?  Has anyone even reported it?

He trudges up the stairs to his apartment and shuffles inside.  Everything is exactly how he left it: Papyrus’ playpen is in front of the couch, and still has his new stuffed elephant in it.  Sans’ finished stack of books is next to the coffee table.  The blanket extra blanket is neatly folded over the back of the couch, and the extra pillow is placed neatly at one end. He sighs, toes off his shoes, and heads to the kitchen for a hot drink.  If nothing else, he thinks as he pats the wall in search of the switch plate, going through the motions of boiling water and choosing a teabag will bring comfort in their routine.

Instead, he gets a hot drink and no children.

Gaster sleeps on the couch, where he’s been sleeping since Sans and Papyrus arrived in his life.  He doesn’t want them to think he’s forgotten them when they get back.

Sleeping is difficult.  Getting up and going to work the next day is harder.

Gerald finds him in his office trying to read a book.  He gently takes the book from Gaster’s hands, then takes Gaster out to get coffee. They end up in one of the trendy coffee shops that grew around the facility, where Gerald buys each of them a cup of the seasonal brew.  It smells like the spices put in pumpkin pie.

“Coffee is supposed to inhibit growth in children,” Gaster says absently.

Gerald snorts.  “Never give any to Sans.  He’s already below the fifth height percentile for his age.”

Gaster tips his cup slightly to one side until the liquid touches the brim.  “Do you think Papyrus will be short as well?”

“It’s possible.  These things tend to run in families.”

He looks over Gerald’s obviously aquatic build.  “Does all of your family live in rivers?”

“Most of them, yes.  Some straddle the line into ‘amphibian’ territory, but we’re mostly made to live in water.”  Gerald sips his coffee.

“Mine are all ghosts.  Some of them look for bodies while other carry on the family tradition.”  He tilts the cup to the other side, just enough to stain the paper up to the edge. “Did I tell you that my uncle has a snail farm?”

“You did mention it once or twice.”

Gaster rolls the coffee around his cup a few more times.  “It’s strange.  When Sans and Papyrus were here, I didn’t think of anything beyond the next task that needed to be done.  Now that they’re missing, I’m thinking of all the things we could have done together. I could have enrolled them in school. I could have introduced them to my family.  I could have—” He sets the cup down.  “I can’t even imagine all the possibilities I’ve missed.”

Gerald takes his hand.  “They’re not gone forever, Wings.  Donahue is extremely good at cases like these, she’ll find them.”

Gaster squeezes Gerald’s arm. “What if they’ve just… gone home?”

“You _are_ their home,” Gerald insists, “They don’t want to be anywhere else. You have plenty to worry about, don’t waste time worry about that.”

“No, you’re right.  Of course not.”  Gaster takes a shuddering breath and reaches up to rub the sleep from his eyes. “I suppose I let me fears get the best of me.”

“An easy thing to do, given the circumstances,” Gerald says, pushing the coffee back into Gaster’s hands. “Here.  You don’t have to drink it, just hold it.”

“Thank you,” Gaster says.  He means it from the bottom of his metaphorical heart.  “I heavily dislike coffee.”

“It’s more of a gesture,” Gerald concedes.  “After all, the correct response is to make a hot drink for someone, isn’t it?”

Gaster smiles.  “Yes, it is.”

-

Doctor Snowdrake meets with him for lunch a few days later.  “This isn’t an official visit,” she says as they stand in line for another coffee at the trendy shop down the street from the lab, “I just want to see how you’re doing.”

“Thank you,” Gaster replies. He’s grateful for the support, and also grateful that he gets to order his own hot drink this time.

They order their drinks and choose an out-of-the-way table close to the windows.  Gaster adds a packet of sugar to his tea to see if that makes a difference.

“I was speaking with Lieutenant Donahue,” Doctor Snowdrake says as she adds a straw to her mocha frappaccino, “And thought of something I’d like to share with you: I don’t believe Alphys is the person in Sans’ drawing.”

“No?”  Gaster asks.

“No.  He drew them as an amorphous black mass, which suggests a very bad association, but you didn’t mention Sans having a negative reaction to the library prior to this. If Alphys were the person in that picture, Sans would have avoided anything connected to him.”

“That’s true,” Gaster says, stirring his tea thoughtfully, “He disliked being around Alphys, but no more than he disliked being around anyone.”

“Exactly.  Sans is a child, and moreover, he trusts you; he wouldn’t hide something like that.”

“Do you agree with Donahue’s theory that someone hired Alphys?”

Doctor Snowdrake takes a sip of her drink.  Gaster suspects she does it to collect her thoughts.  “I believe Alphys was involved,” she says slowly, “And I believe he is not the reason Sans and Papyrus ran away.  Beyond that, I couldn’t speculate with any kind of accuracy.”

Gaster nods, more to himself than as a contribution to the discussion.  “Have you had a chance to talk with Aubrey?”

“I have.  Without breaking confidentiality, it seems that her problems developed after her mother left for Hotland.”  She sets her drink to the side.  “I’m sure Lieutenant Donahue will go over the details with you.”

“She doesn’t like being called ‘lieutenant’,” Gaster points out.

“I know,” Doctor Snowdrake says with a sigh, “But we work in a professional capacity.  I feel uncomfortable referring to her in such an casual manner.”

-

“I’m not going to stop telling you how to say my name,” Donahue says on Gaster’s third coffee excursion this week. She downs an espresso in one go and sets the tiny cup back on the table next to two full ones.  Gaster assumes she has a long day ahead of her, and possibly several other long days in the recent past.  

“Doctor Snowdrake feels the same way I do,” Gaster says, invoking a ‘group opinion’ to give his argument strength. He shifts the bitter drink around in his cup.  

Upon hearing of Gaster’s dislike for coffee, Donahue, a late-nights-and-weekends champion, has started him out with a cappuccino and some kind of muffin.  Apparently they have complimentary flavor profiles.  Gaster has yet to stop being surprised by Donahue’s eclectic, yet strangely cohesive knowledge base.

“I tell her the same thing,” Donahue says with a dismissive gesture, “And I’m going to keep telling you the same thing too, doc.  It’s _Donnie._ ”

Gaster cringes at the thought of referring to a colleague so informally.

Donahue watches the cringe. “I’ll settle for dropping the title,” she concedes.

“Thank you,” Gaster says with sincere gratitude.

“Anyway, I wanted to tell you that we got a warrant for Alphys’ apartment and went over it.  He’s not there and there isn’t much to suggest he was planning anything, but he pretty obviously hasn’t been taking care of anything. The cupboards were bare and there were dirty clothes everywhere.”  Donahue sips her second espresso, presumably able to enjoy it now that she’s chugged the first round of caffeine.

“Are you allowed to tell me these things?  I very desperately want to know the details of the case, but I don’t want you to break the law on my behalf.”

“I’m the kids’ social worker, you’re their guardian; I’m allowed to bend the rules when we’ve got half the people we need to properly run the department,” Donahue says with a wink.  

“The weird thing,” she continues, “ _One_ of the weird things, is that Alphys’ wife (who is apparently a geothermal engineer named Astrid, you’ve probably worked with her before) says this is completely out of character for him. According to her, she married him because he was soft-spoken and great with kids, but according to their kid Aubrey, he did a complete one-eighty after Astrid left for Hotland.  Got short-tempered and snappish, stopped taking care of Aubrey.”

“That’s odd,” says Gaster.

“Yeah.  I’m wondering if this is a case of blackmail.”

“What could anyone hold over Alphys? Librarians aren’t known for their documentable scandalous behavior.”

“Who knows?  Everyone’s got secrets.”  She finished the second espresso and starts on the third.

Gaster takes a moment to reflect on this.  He absentmindedly takes a sip of his cappuccino and, surprisingly, isn’t disgusted.

He looks up from his cup.  Donahue is uses her many teeth to smile knowingly. It looks like a tired, yet optimistic shark silently saying “I told you so”.  Gaster silently appends ‘coffee with lots of milk’ to his list of possible hot drinks.

-

Gaster lets his mind linger on blackmail material on his way home.  He himself was less than focused before he gained corporeal form, but hasn’t done anything he would consider blackmail material.  What could Alphys have done that would allow someone to coerce him into this?  

He unlocks his apartment, goes through his coming-home routine, heads to the kitchen, and flicks the light on. Sans is sitting at the kitchen table.

Gaster stares.  Faintly, he wonders if Donahue was right.

Sans is wearing the exact clothing Gaster last saw him in: the same oversized jacket he won’t let Gaster replace, the same shirt, the same shorts.  He’s taken the seat in front of the door, and is sitting with his hands folded on the table like he’s waiting for a business meeting to start.  Under different circumstances, seeing an eight-year-old child posture like this would be comical.  

“Hello, Doctor Gaster,” Sans says in a voice that sounds nothing like his own.

Oh, Gaster thinks disappointedly, Donahue was not right.  “You’re not Sans,” he says.

“I am not,” the imposter agrees.

Gaster sets his briefcase down. He would normally put it on the kitchen table, but given the situation, he decides to deviate from his routine. “Why do you look like Sans?”

“That is neither here nor there,” the man says.  “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

The man rolls his eyes.  Gaster feels his eyebrows move involuntarily up his face.  “Of course, let me clarify: do you have any idea what you’ve done to my _sons_ , doctor?”

“Your…?”

“Yes, doctor, my sons.  The two skeleton children you’ve adopted without so much as a by-your-leave?  I lose track of the for a measly few months, and they came home talking about things like _libraries_ and _rooming contracts_ and _fairness_.  You’ve completely ruined them.”  He straightens his posture in a way suggests he’s taking on a great deal of stress due to someone else’s incompetence.  “Luckily, I know how to handle children and can salvage the situation.  More to the point, I would like to turn this into an opportunity.”

The imposter is sitting in full view of the phone, leaving Gaster no way to call Donahue or the authorities. His only chance is to keep this man talking until he comes up with a better plan.  “What kind of opportunity?”

“You are a scientist, Doctor Gaster, and it’s been some time since I’ve had the chance to collaborate with anyone on my work.  We could do more for the monster race together than I could do alone.  Additionally, I understand that you and my sons have grown close over the past few weeks.  Joining me on this project would be a way for you to spend time with them.”

Gaster feels something stirring in his chest.  “You’re the one they ran away from.”

“They hardly ran away, I simply misplaced them for a time,” the man says with a wave of his hand.  He looks increasingly annoyed with this conversation, as though it’s not going to direction he wants.

Gaster examines the emotion in his chest.  It feels like a very volitile form of anger, and it makes his magic crackle in his hands. “You taught them that their needs weren’t important.”

The man sighs heavily.  “Doctor, if you knew what was really going on, you’d understand that their needs truly _aren’t_ important.  My sons have a great destiny ahead of them, and you’ve polluted them with toys and naps and soft blankets.”

“They’re _afraid of you,_ ” Gaster grits out.

The man rubs his temples.  “I can see we’re getting nowhere with this.  Let me try another approach.”

The room is flooded with blue light; something seizes Gaster’s soul.  He tries to retaliate with his own magic, but the blue surrounding his soul prevents the energy from translating into form.  It lifts him just high enough that his toes skim the linoleum floor.  Several weeks ago, Sans threw three place settings into the air on the off chance Gaster planned to report his presence; today, a man wearing Sans’ image is using a similar maneuver as a much more violent threat.

The man hops down from the chair and crosses the room.  “I had two beautiful, well-behaved sons.  They weren’t perfect, but they were children and I forgave them for it.  Then you came along and undid all my meticulous work. It could be years before I get them back into shape.  I’m giving you a chance to make up for your mistakes and have a place in their lives.”

The imposter is holding a handful of blue magic.  He raises it a bit higher; Gaster is raised a bit higher.  It hurts.

“What do you say, doctor?”

“You’re disgusting,” Gaster says.

The man throws his hand down; Gaster is slammed into the floor hard enough to send his hands skittering across the room.  

“ _Wrong answer!_ ”

“Is this what you did?”  Gaster grits out, “Is this why they’re afraid of you?”

He’s pitched sideways.  “ _You dare suggest I would hurt my own sons?!”_

Gaster collides with the counter. The corner catches the small of his back, and a drawer pops open with the force of the impact.  Cutlery clatters to the ground.

The man takes a deep breath and releases the magic.  “I can see you need some time to consider my offer.  Please do so.”  He crosses the kitchen, extracting a small packet from his (Sans’) pocket and tossing it onto Gaster’s chest.  It’s a sampler of the two-part polymer Gaster uses to do repairs on his body.  “I’ll be back in a few days for your answer, then I’m moving my family out of the city.  You’ll never see them again.  Think carefully, doctor.”

He leaves the kitchen, looking back for one last moment.  He looks heart-achingly like Sans.

“And do remember that I love my boys. It would be a shame if they got hurt due to your actions.”

But he very clearly is not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The [version on tumblr](http://spinach-productions.tumblr.com/post/159317524241/baby-spinach-chapter-7) has an illustration! Just one. I am not the artist Jinny is.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaster meets with Donahue, twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS I AM SO SORRY. This has been up since Friday on my tumblr, but it didn't post properly on ao3 and I was away from the computer until recently. Thank you so much for you patience, this week's update will be on time.

_Sans eases the nursery room door shut behind him and crosses the room to the crib.  “Dad says I’m exceeding all his expectations,” he says smugly, “He’s spending all his time with me because one one’s ever seen a magic output stronger than mine.  I bet he doesn’t even remember you’re in here.”_

_The baby in the crib squirms.  His face is pinched, and he opens and closes his hands a few times.  He looks uncomfortable._

_Some of Sans’ superiority drops off. “Hey, why are you doing that?”_

_Papyrus looks at Sans expectantly._

_“Dad… didn’t really forget you, did he?”  Sans reaches into the crib to feel Papyrus’ stomach.  “You ate, right?”_

_Papyrus whines.  He looks like he’s about to start crying._

_“Okay, okay, hold on,” he says, mentally running through what babies can and can’t eat.  “Formula!  Dad got a bunch of formula for you.  It’s somewhere in here.”  Sans glances around the room.  Aside from the crib, the only piece of furniture is a bookshelf with a few volumes on infant care, a cardboard box, and some of Sans’ old stuffed animals. The box has a bottle and several containers of powdered formula; Sans grabs one and reads the directions. “This isn’t too bad, hold on a second.”_

_After quick trip to the kitchen for water, he returns with a shaken bottle of baby formula.  Sans belated realizes he has no idea how to feed a baby. With a heavy sigh, he tucks the bottle into his pocket, bundles Papyrus in the blanket, and brings them both to the heavy door that protects the laboratory._

_“Dad?”  Sans calls, knocking on the door, “Dad!”_

_It takes a long time before a man comes to the door.  “Sans, I’m very busy.  What is it?”_

_Sans holds up Papyrus.  “How do you feed a baby?”_

_The man looks at the two children. He adjusts Papyrus in Sans’ arms, and shows how to give a baby a bottle without getting too much air into the digestive tract.  “Make sure you burp him afterwards, he can’t remove the air from his stomach on his own. And make sure he eats at least every four hours.”_

_“Four hours?!”  Sans says, but the door is already closed again.  He directs his attention to Papyrus, who looks much more comfortable.  “You need to eat every four hours?  Why do you need to eat so much?”  He starts the trek back to the nursery.  “…have you been eating enough?”_

_-_

_Sans drags himself into the nursery. He stopping bothering with stealth after being assigned child-care duties, and closes the door with normal volume._

_“Hey Papyrus,” he says, crossing the room and leaning heavily on the shelf as he mixes tonight’s bottle.  “I’m pretty tired, so let’s do this one sitting down, okay?”_

_Papyrus smiles and peers at him through his crib’s bars.  He makes a cooing noise and reaches through the bars in Sans’ direction._

_“You’re getting pretty strong, kiddo,” Sans says, scooping Papyrus out of the crib and settling them both onto the floor for dinner.  “The guidebook says you’ll start rolling over soon.  Maybe you can teach me a thing or two.”_

_Papyrus watches Sans face as he eats, looking over him; Sans babbles a stream of consciousness to keep from falling asleep mid-dinner.  “Dad’s been having me work pretty hard.  He wants to see if he can increase my damage output, something about putting enough force on an object to break its down the energy bonds between its particles.  I’m not sure what the point is, but he seems happy about it.”  Sans leans back against the crib.  “That’s why he made you, you know?  My magic came in pretty late and he wasn’t sure I’d be able to do… whatever he’s hoping to get done.  But now I can do it.”_

_Papyrus pulls away from the bottle and reaches towards Sans.  Sans shifts him to make sure he burps, but as he begins to pat Papyrus’ back, Papyrus begins to drum his hands against Sans’ shoulder._

_“What are you doing,” he asks, gently holding Papyrus out for inspection._

_Papyrus is looking at Sans’ face and frowning.  He wriggles a bit, then reaches out and put a hand on Sans’ face and pats, just a few times._

_Sans can’t help but smile. “Thanks for your support, buddy.”_

_-_

_Sans starts spending all his free time with the new baby.  Play is apparently an important part of a child’s development, so he makes sure they have lots of fun things to do together.  Papyrus’ favorites are hiding under his blanket and playing airplane. Sans pays special attention to Papyrus’ likes and dislikes to make sure he’s fully engaged, because when Papyrus is having a good time, he laughs and smiles and looks at Sans like he’s the most incredible person to exist.  Sans loves this tiny baby more than he’s ever loved anything._

_Together they go through Papyrus learning to turn over, and his first attempts to crawl, and the first time he tries to form a word.  Sans holds Papyrus’ hands as he takes a few tentative steps and laughs with him when he inevitably falls over.  He finds books around the house to read to him, because one day this little guy is going to be something great, Sans just knows it._

_Tonight, he opens the door by turning the knob and leaning in.  Gravity pushes the door open and sends Sans sprawling onto the floor.  He lays face down on the carpet as he catches his breath._

_Papyrus makes a concerned noise. He’s big enough that he can pull himself upright if he holds on to the bars of his crib, and uses his new abilities to look Sans over._

_“I’m okay,” Sans says, flashing a thumbs-up across the room, “Just give me a second, I’ll get your dinner.”_

_Papyrus gurgles patiently as Sans reconstitutes into a solid mass and lugs himself across the room to the shelf. The box of formula is starting to run low again.  He makes a mental note to ask their dad for more next time he sees him; that might not be for a while, since he’s been taking longer to create new training strategies between Sans’ tests._

_Sans mixes Papyrus’ bottle through muscle memory alone.  He pulls Papyrus from the crib and lays back down on the floor to shake the formula. “We’re doing a resting dinner tonight, okay buddy?”_

_Papyrus pushes the bottle away and pats Sans’ face._

_“I’m okay,” he says again, patting Papyrus’ back in return, “Just tired.  I’m training really hard these days.”_

_Papyrus rests his head on Sans’ chest._

_“You know, maybe your magic will take forever to come in like mine did.  Maybe by the time you get interesting, dad will have figured out whatever he’s working on and you won’t have to do this,” Sans says hopefully. “I’d like that.”_

_Papyrus begins to chew on Sans’s shirt. His teeth starting coming in a few weeks ago; he makes up for their small size by putting them on everything he can reach._

_“Come on, kid, time to put real food in your mouth,” Sans chides gently, shifting Papyrus onto his back and giving him the bottle._

_Papyrus pushes it away and continues to chew on Sans’ clothing._

_“Papyrus,” Sans says sternly, aiming the bottle at his younger brother for the third time._

_The bottle stops mid-aim.  Sans stares as it refuses to point towards Papyrus. When he focuses, he can see a faint, familiar blue light outlining the plastic._

_“Oh,” he says quietly._

_The bottle flies out of Sans’ hand and bounces across the room.  Papyrus giggles to himself._

_Sans stares at the baby sitting on his chest.  Papyrus isn’t a year old yet, and he’s already starting to use the same magic Sans does.  The same magic their dad is running him ragged to perfect.  Papyrus isn’t even a year old yet._

_He makes the decision to leave that night._

-

Gaster gingerly examines his back with both hands.  His original body was a cloth training dummy used to simulate human combat; adjustments and augmentations have been made as technology advanced, and his torso is now composed of highly durable polyurethane injection-molded around a metal skeleton to form an approximately human shape.

(Sans recently did some research on plastics.  Gaster wonders if he would be interested in comparing notes.  He imagines this to distract himself from his body’s stiffness.)

The moderate damage caused by the counter isn’t serious enough to warrant immediate repairs.  Thus assured, Gaster starts the strenuous task of crossing the kitchen to get to the phone.  Naturally, after a two solid minutes spent shuffling across the floor and climbing the doorway to get to his feet, it rings.

“Hey doc,” Donahue says.

“Hello,” Gaster manages.

“Whoa, you sound awful.  Are you okay?”

“I’ve been better,” Gaster admits.  “There’s been a development in the case.”

“How did you know that?”

“What?”

“How did you know there’s been a development?  That’s what I’m calling about.”

Gaster slowly sits on the floor and leans against the wall.  It’s difficult to rest his weight without putting pressure on his back.  “I think we’re talking about two different developments.  One has happened just now in my home,” he says, relating the encounter to Donahue.

She whistles.  “That’s a hell of a story, doc.  You okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” he says, gently rubbing the area around the impact site. He doesn’t have a cardiovascular system to make the area bruise or a traditional nervous system to relay pain messages, but it’s stiff and painful nonetheless.

“I’d like for you to come in and add to your statement as soon as possible. Do you want me to call Gerald to help with repairs?”

“No, I’ll need time to take care of them later.”

“Alright.  I’ll send someone to pick you up.”

“I’m sure it will be fine if I walk—

“Yeah, no.  Greatest Dog will be there in fifteen.”

Donahue hangs up before Gaster can argue the point further.  It’s just as well— in all honestly, he isn’t sure how long the trip to Royal Guard Head Quarters would take on foot, and on a secondary note, fifteen minutes will be long enough to temporarily patch the injury.

Gaster eyes the sampler resin pack with contempt.  His spare repair kit is kept under the sink.  He kicks the sampler pack across the floor on the way past

-

Royal Guard HQ is a building of neither large nor small proportions.  It was built during a time of expansion, when buildings were put together for economic stimulation rather than for a particular function, and it sits in a long row of identical, square buildings as a result.  

Gaster and his escort arrive without difficulty.  He’s shown into a hallway with doors and long glass windows along both walls.  Each window has a set of blinds on the other side of the wall.  Donahue is waiting by one of them.

“Hey doc,” she says, extending her hand, “You find time to make repairs?”

Gaster takes her handshake offer.  “Some, thank you.”

“That’s good to hear.  I hate to think of you wandering around with your stuffing falling out.

“I don’t have stuffing anymore, Donahue, I’m made of—”

“It’s a turn of phrase, doc, I know you’re made of resins nowadays. Listen, I called you here for two reasons: the second is that I really do want to get your statement and add it to the report.  But,” she steps to the side and juts a thumb over her shoulder to the window behind here, “Here’s the first.”

Gaster peers through the window.  Alphys is sitting in an interrogation room, handcuffed to the table.

“We found him locked in the same closet we found Aubrey.  It was a tighter fit for this guy.”

Something angry begins to build in Gaster’s chest.

“Hold up a second,” Donahue says, catching Gaster’s hands in her own.  He looks down at them; thin purple webbing has already begun to stretch between his fingers.

“How can you ask that,” he says.

Donahue uses her free hand to motion for Gaster to be quiet, then pushes a button on the intercom on the wall.  “Doing okay in there, Alphys?”  She calls.

“Yes, thank you, lieutenant,” Alphys replies.  His voice is nasally and in primarily the upper register, similar to Aubrey’s.  

Donahue shuts off the intercom.  “Hear that?”

“What?”

“You said on the phone that whoever visited you tonight looked like Sans, but didn’t sound like him.  Does this sound like the Alphys you’ve been talking to?”

Prior to today, Alphys’ voice has been distinctively lower.   “He said he had a cold,” Gaster says slowly.

Donahue grins.  It seems like she does this in place of other facial expressions.  This particular grin seems to imply a victory under less than ideal circumstances.  “Alphys says he’s been held captive in some kind of underground basement for about three months.  If he’s telling the truth, that about a month after Sans and Papyrus flew the coop, which lines up with what Aubrey reported about her dad’s weird behavior.”

“If this is Alphys,” Gaster turns to the glass, “Then who’s been working at the library?”

“I’ll give you three guesses,” Donahue says.

Gaster inspects the man in the interrogation room a second time.  His clothes are badly stained and one lens of his glasses is cracked down the middle.  He looks tired and haggard, nothing like the man Gaster saw in the library three days ago.  If his story is true, then Alphys’ daughter has been hurt by the same man who treated Sans and Papyrus as a science experiment.  “What does this mean,” he asks.

“ _If_ Alphys is telling the truth—”

“I’m not fully convinced.”

“—then it means we have to track down the real culprit before he skips town with those kids.”

Alphys scratches the skin under handcuff.  Was he also restrained while held prisoner?  “Do you think he’ll do it,” Gaster asks.

“Absolutely,” Donahue says.

“Then how do we find the person who did this?”

Donahue puts a hand on Gaster’s shoulder, but doesn’t pull him away from the window.  “I have an idea, but you won’t like it.”

Gaster allows the show of support.  He watches as Alphys, a man who loves his child, as he sits handcuffed to a table for a crime he may not have committed.  “If you think it will work, it doesn’t matter if I like it,” he says.

-

The next day, Gaster goes to work as usual.  He does his research (without naps), gets coffee with Gerald and Doctor Snowdrake (and talks about the children), and stays far away from the authorities.  In his down time, packs a small bag with clothes and notebooks gathers his current research, anything he might want to take with him if he were to suddenly leave, into neat, portable folders as well.  Pretending that nothing has changed is difficult.  Gaster finds himself completely unprepared to treat the children’s absence as though it were normal.  They’ve become such an integral part of his life, he isn’t sure how he managed without them.

Walking home from work two days after his meeting with Donahue, Gaster finds himself with a traveling companion.  He notices as they step up to the crosswalk next to him.  Risking a glance, Gaster finds himself standing next to the First Lieutenant herself.  It’s gotten colder as the seasonal changes move forward, and she’s pulled on a leather jacket in response to the nighttime chill.  Her shirt and jeans are all ones he’s seen before.  She looks exactly as he last saw her.

“Hello,” Gaster says cautiously.

“Hello, doctor,” says someone who isn’t Lieutenant Donahue.

He fixes his gaze at the crosswalk light across the street and says, “You seem to enjoy changing your face.”

“You seem to enjoy discretely packing your life into travel-sized packages and walking around unaccompanied at night,” not-Donahue replies.  He slides both hands into the leather jacket’s pockets.  “I trust you’ve made up your mind?”

“I have,” Gaster says.

“Excellent.”

The light changes.  The man who currently looks like Lieutenant Donahue beings to cross, and Gaster follows.

“Where are we going?”

“Patience, doctor.  I’m about to tell you about my life’s work, and I believe one of the more common ways to impart knowledge to a grateful student is over coffee.”

He takes a steadying breath and does not comment on the fact that this man has left two young children alone.  Gaster doesn’t make his stand in the middle of the road, because that would be foolish, but he does come to a stop once he reaches the opposite curb. “I want proof that they’re alright, first,” he says.

The man stops to look back, and finds Gaster several paces behind him. He considers Gaster.  “I believe we’ve had a miscommunication, doctor,” he says, “I have no intention of harming my own children.  They’re everything to me.”

“You may not intend to hurt them, but that doesn’t mean they’re not hurt.”

“You say that as though you think I don’t care for them,” the man says.  He grins the same way Donahue does when she means to convey a complex expression.  “I can assure you my boys are fine.  It’s you who will be in a tenuous position unless you buy me a cup of caffeine.”

-

The coffee shop is brightly lit and smells like vanilla.  Gaster orders two cups of the evening special, then sits at a table with the imposter.  They’re seated towards the back of the room, away from the windows where someone could recognize not-Donahue and blow their cover while still facing the doors to monitor people entering and exiting the shop.

“Aren’t you going to drink yours?” the imposter asks.

Gaster holds the cup in both hands.  He hopes it gives him the appearance of a friendly coworker having a chat, because he doesn’t have any further time to spend on this charade. “Where are we going?”

“All in good time, doctor.  We’ll see my sons soon enough.  They don’t say much these days, but when they do, you’re all they talk about.   _Dings_ this and _Gaster_ that.”  He takes a sip of his coffee.  “I don’t know what you did, but I should probably take notes on it.”

It’s a small consolation.  Gaster tucks the feeling away and tries to gather more information.  “Why do you look like Lieutenant Donahue?”

The man shrugs.  He slings an arm over the back of his chair, exactly as the real Donahue would.  “I could tell you about the complex biological changes I do to change into someone else, but I suspect you’re asking about my motivations, not my physiology.  Correct?”

Gaster nods.

“I look like the lieutenant because you’re working with the Royal Guard to find my children.  You’ve already met with her twice in the course of this investigation, no one will question seeing you with her again.”

“Sitting in public is a bit bold,” Gaster points out.

“I believe earned some showboating,” the imposter says, “After all, it’s not just anyone who can figure out how to get monster kind through the barrier.”

“And how, exactly, do you plan to do that?” Gaster asks, crossing his arms. “No one has the power to get through.”

“I can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting to tell someone about this,” the man says gleefully, “You know the old stories about the barrier, yes?  The only way to get through is through the combination of human and monster souls.”

“Seven human, one monster.”

“ _Or_ one human with one monster soul. A live human soul is equivalent to seven deceased ones.   _Seven_ of them.  That’s the kind of power humanity wields.  We never had a chance.”  The man leans forward conspiratorially, “But they made one fatal mistake.  When the humans locked us in here, they left an entry point on Mount Ebbot, just in case they ever felt like finishing what they started.  It backfired spectacularly: every now and then, an unsuspecting human falls through and has to make their way through the Underground to get to the exit barrier. The king claims to have reaped the souls of five such humans, and ten years ago, another fell through.

“Through ingenuity and some very good luck, I found it before Asgore did _._ ”

Gaster manages to refrain from comment.

“The soul it left behind was incredible,” he says with a wide gesture, “I’d never seen anything able to create so much energy.  And the color!  It was the bluest soul I’ve ever seen, more blue even than mine.  Do you know what blue stands for, doctor?  It’s _integrity._  I knew what had to be done to get us through the barrier.”

“And what was that.”

The man gives a thin smile.  Though the lack of Donahue’s pointed teeth should make it a less vicious expression than her open-mouthed grins, it unexpectedly fills Gaster with a sense of foreboding dread.

“You were alive during the war, weren’t you doctor?” he asks, tracing a fingers around the rim of his cup.

“I was,” Gaster confirms, “Though in a strategic position, not a military one.”

“You have some experience with humans, then?”

“Second hand.”

“Naturally.  None of the history books place you on the front lines.”  The man weaves his fingers together and braces both elbows against the table, resting his head on the back of his hands.  “Surely you’ve noticed my sons’ human resemblance?”

It takes a moment for Gaster to realize the question isn’t rhetorical.  “I have.”

“Haven’t you wondered why they’re like that?  I’ll spare you from answering; of course you have.  Everyone who’s ever laid eyes on my beautiful children and knows what a human looks like has wondered.”  The imposter’s smile widens until it threatens to split his face. “It’s because they are.”

The coffee shop’s noise fills in Gaster’s silence.  The baristas tend to the few customers ordering coffee this late in the evening.  Someone orders a scone.  It all may as well be happening in space for how relevant it is to this new, awful reality. “What,” he asks faintly.

“I broke off a piece of my blue soul and combined it with a piece of the blue human soul,” the man says, using hand gestures to illustrate the act of _breaking off a piece of his soul_ and _combining it with a dead human child’s soul_ , “And Sans came to be.”

“That’s impossible,” Gaster says.

“I assure you, it isn’t.  Of course, it wasn’t as easy as just putting two pieces together; I had to fuse them with the proper type and amount of magic, and then create a place for Sans to grow to maturity.  Did you know that human babies require a lot of care?  I was up for months feeding and rocking and tending to him, but it was one of the most fulfilling times of my life.

“It took a long time for his magic to come in, long enough that I thought he’d inherited the human inability to use it, but it was certainly worth the wait. Unless I’m mistaken, you’ve seen the kind of energy he can generate.”

“What does that matter?” Gaster asks, “If he’s human enough, he should be able to cross the barrier even without magic.”

“I don’t simply want to send someone across the barrier, doctor, I want to send a monster capable of retrieving the necessary human souls to _break_ the barrier.”

Warmth trickles through Gaster’shand.  His magic has punctured his thin paper cup, sending coffee flowing over his fingers and onto the table.

“I haven’t seen Papyrus display any propensity for magic, but given how long Sans’ magic took to mature, I’m willing to bet he’ll be just as powerful at the same age.  With a little luck, I might be able to send them out as a team.  Careful, doctor, you’ll stain your sleeves,” the imposter says, plucking a napkin from the table’s dispenser.

Gaster places his fingertips over the holes in the cup and, extremely carefully, sops up the coffee.  “So,” he says, slowly and with very precise annunciation, “You want to send them into the world as human killers.”

“Correct,” the man says.

“You brought two children into existence and raised them to be killers.”

“You say that as though the humans don’t deserve it.”

Gaster takes a slow breath.   _The first time Papyrus asked to be held.  The eight p.m. naps they took together. Trips to the library._  He focuses on calm memories to center himself. “I couldn’t comment on what they do or do not deserve,” he says.

Not-Donahue takes in Gaster’s sudden calm and the structural collapse of his cup.  “You don’t agree with my methods.”

“I do not.”

“You think I’ve been unfair to Sans and Papyrus.”

“I do.”

“I understand.  My work may seem extreme, but think of the good it will ultimately do, doctor. Monsters able to live above ground, in the _sunlight._  You were alive before we were forced underground, don’t you miss being able to watch the sun travel across the sky?”  He looks into his own cup for a moment.  “I want my boys to grow up in a world where they can look up and see limitless possibility, not the glittering fake stars we’ve come to accept in place of the real thing.”

Gaster bites down on his tongue to keep from pointing out how Sans and Papyrus can’t possibly live in a world of possibility with a father like this.

The man swigs back the last of his coffee and wipes his mouth on a sleeve. “Well, I’d say that’s enough explanation for now, wouldn’t you?  We have some children to transport.”

“Where are we going?”

“All in good time, doctor.  You’ll see where you fit into this soon.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why are secret lairs in the last place you'd expect?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, did you guys know that you're the best? I got like 5 messages of support. Y'all are the best readers anyone could ask for.
> 
> I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, so I might come back and revise it at another time. I'll let you know. Thanks for reading!

They swing by the facility for Gaster's research, which was too extensive to be packed with the rest of his things.  “You're out awful late,” says the dog on guard duty.  Most of the Royal Guard seems to be made of dogs.

“I'm having a hard time sleeping,” Gaster replies shakily.

“That's right, you're usually at home by this time.”  The guard hands back Gaster's badge with a sympathetic look.  “We'll find them, doctor.  There's nothing the Royal Guard hates more than lost puppies.”

Gaster heroically does not point out that he's in the middle of finding Sans and Papyrus on his own.  “Wait,” he says as the guard begins to turn around, “Could you tell me about the case?  Has there been any progress?”

The guard cocks his head to one side.  “Didn't you see Lieutenant Donahue just this evening?”

“I-I did, but I was hoping there had been a development since then...?”

He gives what Gaster suspects is meant to be a supportive smile, but falls slightly short due to the tongue still sticking out the corner of his mouth.  “If there are any changes, we'll let you know,” the Guard says, laying a gentle paw on Gaster's shoulder.

Gaster pats the paw a few times, thanks the guard, and stiffly crosses the bridge into the main entrance hall.

Several steps past the main reception desk (manned only by a stack of information pamphlets due to the late hour), Imposter Donahue falls into step next to him.  He's now wearing the official Royal Guard uniform, though Gaster would be hard pressed to guess where he got one.  “Nice job distracting the dog.”

“I don't care for subterfuge,” Gaster says sharply.  He makes a point of telling the truth and staying out of trouble because _he is not good at it_.

“Then don't think of it that way,” Not-Donahue says with a grin, “Think of it as the first step towards out collaboration, and believe me, doctor, you'll find what comes next to be worth the difficulties.”

The take the side corridors to Gaster's office.  He painfully notes that these are the same routes he used to take with the children.  While the lab is open all hours to accommodate its employee's variety of schedules, few people work this late; the halls are quiet aside from the florescent lights and humming climate control system.

His office is at one end of the supervisor's wing.  They collect Gaster's research, then head back into the hallway.  “Where are we going,” Gaster asks as he relocks the door.

“Patience,” the imposter says, “We'll get there soon.”

“It would help if I had some idea of our destination.”

“I don't see how that's relevent to anyth—”

“Well, hello there Lieutenant,” says someone  Gaster's metaphorical circulatory system begins to run cold.  He turns; the well-meaning intern is standing at the other end of the hall, where he has no idea what kind of complications he's just .

“Donahue,” he corrects faintly.

“And Doctor Gaster, good evening!  I thought you'd already gone home for the evening.”

Not-Donahue cocks an eyebrow in Gaster's direction.  The expression reads _take care of this, or I will._

“I, ah.  Forgot some things,” he says, gesturing to the notebooks and binders in his arms.

The intern eyes the stack.  “Planning to work from home for a while?”  He asks with a sympathetic tone.

Despite the situation, Gaster notes that he can now recognize sympathy in many different forms.  Later, he'll pat himself on the back for the sharpening of his social observational skills; now, he scrambles for some kind of explanation as to why he's leaving the facility with classified information that will also give Not-Donahue a reason to _keep from speaking._   “It's a more comfortable environment,” he says desperately.  The weight of his papers keeps his hands from shaking too badly, but they're still rattling quietly against the binders.

“Do you want help carrying those?”  The intern asks.

“ _No_ ,” Gaster blurts out, “Ah, no thank you.  I think the Lieutenant and I have it covered.”

Not-Donahue seems amused by the Gaster's fumbling.  He takes half the stack, balancing it on one hand like a serving tray, and gives a thumbs-up with his free hand.

“Apparently you do,” the intern says with a smile, “Well, I'll let you get on with your work.”

Gaster heaves a sigh of relief.

“Oh wait, one more thing.  Lieutenant, your niece was looking for—”

“Donnie?”

Gaster slowly turns to look down the other end of the hall.  Silohouetted dramatically in the light from the perpendicular hallway is a young, aquatic girl with blue skin and red hair.  She's wearing a dirty t-shirt and overalls, and bears enough resemblance with Donahue to suggest a familial tie.

The girl grins widely, revealing extremely familiar teeth.

“H-hello,” Gaster says in a shaky voice, “What's your—”

The girl launches herself down the hallway.  It's faster than he can react, but Gaster still see the actions in slow motion: the girl darting past him towards the imposter, those enormous sharp teeth unhinging.  Not-Donahue takes as step back as he realizes what's about to happen, but is still too late to stop Donahue's niece from leaping into the air and clamping down on his arm.

He yells in pain and surprise, and starts flailing in an attempt to dislodge the girl's teeth from his skin.  The force makes he let go, and she tumbles backwards across the floor as the imposter tosses Gaster's research to the side and slaps a hand over the wound.

The binders he was holding crash to the ground.  The intern looks confused.  Donahue's niece blinks up at him from the floor.  Her eyes narrow.

“You don't sound like Donnie,” she says.

The imposter grabs Gaster's wrist and sprints down the hallway, sending Gaster's own stack of papers clattering behind them.  He leaps over the girl and careens around the corner, taking Gaster with him as they veer sharply across the tiles.  “Idiot,” he yells as they barrel down the hallway.

“What?”  Gaster shouts back.

“Why didn't you do something?

“What could I have possibly done?!”

“Something!  _Anything!_   Do you realize what's happened?”  They take two right turns, then run past a series of meeting rooms.  “That brat is going to tell her aunt that someone who looked _exactly like her_ was walking around with you.”  They dash past an intersection, then do a swerving u-turn and run back to it.  The man is still holding Gaster's arm tightly; Donahue's niece managed to bite down on the outside of his forearm, puncturing the cloth the holds the armor pieces together.  Blood is already seeping through the resulting holes in the fabric.  “She's going to put that together with whatever you told her about our meeting two days ago, Gaster.  _The jig is up._ ”

“We have a head start,” Gaster says, trailing after the imposter as he navigates the facility, “We can still work together—”

“Of course we can,” the imposter snarls, “But this wasn't the plan.”

Gaster has no idea what the plan could be, but it apparently involved skidding to a stop in front of the dangerous materials laboratory.  To his astonishment, the man produces a key card with a high enough security clearance to get them inside; he locks the door after them and, still firmly gripping Gaster's arm, marches them past the determination experiments to some disused equipment in the back corner of the room.

“She really got me,” he hisses, pressing down on the wound with the other hand.  “Help me move this.”

They wrestle the old equipment out of the way, leaving a clear space on the floor.  The imposter begins counting tiles in some kind of pattern, stopping in front of one that looks no different from the others.  He knocks on it.  Apparently satisfied with whatever he hears, he brings his foot down on one side of the tile.

With a sound like heavy stone grinding against heavier stone, the other side of the tile flips up, revealing a long, dark tunnel leading under the floor of the lab.  A ladder is mounted against one wall.  The imposter looks up at Gaster and grins.

“Please,” he says, gesturing into the hole, “After you.”

-

Gaster has seen the blueprints for the Royal Science Laboratories, and he's certain this tunnel leading down into the earth _should not be here._   Yet here he is, descending a ladder into the depths of the facility with a man who murdered a human child and then proceeded to chip off two piece of his own soul to make more children.  Gaster firmly shoves these ideas to the side and continues downward.

The bottom of the ladder connects with a dark green floor.  The room is narrow but long, and the opposite wall is occupied by several large standing closets.  A door with an ominous looking lock is carved into the far size.

The imposter skips the last rung of the ladder and lands on the tile.  “Sorry for the delay, I had to cover our tracks.”

Gaster doesn't know how he did this from inside the tunnel, but nods as though he understands.

Not-Donahue sheds the Royal Guard armor and places it in one of the cabinets.  On closer inspection, each one is is filled to the brim with outfits: Gaster spots the Royal Laboratories' official labcoat, several sets of training gear, a suit, and a number of other clothes he can't identify because they're crammed together into a mess of fabric.  The imposter pulls a plain labcoat and a large shirt from the fray.  At the same time, he appears to be decreasing in mass; Donahue's vibrant read hair disappears, replaced with two reptilian crests that run along his head.  The aquatic coloring fades into pale green scales, and a set of hair-thin spines appear down the sides of his neck.  The final form seems to be some kind of lizard, only an inch shorter than Gaster himself.

The imposter pulls on the shirt, which sits on his frame like a tunic.  “I debated about whether or not to let you see my form,” he says, shrugging on the labcoat, “But then I remembered that you wouldn't dare compromise my boys by revealing the information.”

The threat hangs heavily between them.  The imposter grins.  He has many small, triangular teeth.

Gaster clears his throat awkwardly.  He learned to produce the noise for situations exactly like this.  “Well.”

The man continues to grin as he extracts several keys from his pockets.

He flicks on a light switch.  Ceiling lights flicker a few times before they buzz to life, filling the space with dim light.

The room they reveal is, undoubtable, a laboratory.

There are several movable lab benches arranged into a row, each with its own lamp to make up for the inadequate overhead lights.  Papers and tools are scattered messily across the tables, in some cases spilling over the edge to form piles on the floor.  Several hallways connect this room to what must be the rest of the base; some have doors, some of those doors have locks.  Bookcases crammed with materials are placed wherever there’s space, creating a furniture maze through the room.  At the center of the maze, which is off to one side of the room, is an open space dominated by a large ominous cylinder.  It’s surrounded with monitoring equipment that looks like a large electrocardiograph, but the cylinder itself is covered with a thick drop cloth.  Gaster can see a faint blue glow leaking under the edges.

He feels faintly ill.

“Welcome to my workspace,” the man says, gesturing to the setup.  “I would have neatened things if there was more time.”

“It’s lovely,” Gaster lies.

“Thank you!  It’s the result of ten years of forced isolation.”

“How did you even find this place?  Let alone gain access to it?”

The imposter looks affronted.  Gaster is fairly certain this is an exaggerated expression.  “Why doctor, I’m surprised!  Don’t you remember the young professor who had an office across the hall from your ten years ago?”

Gaster comes up with a vague memory.  “The one who stole containment equipment before the added security measures were put into place?”

The man grins widely a second time.

“You needed the containment units for this,” Gaster says as the pieces come together, “You already had the soul.”

“This day has been a long time coming,” he replies, clasping his hands together.  “A few more short years and we’ll see to it that the barrier is destroyed for good.”

Something makes a noise.  Gaster tears his eyes from what’s probably a human soul to see two small eyes peering at him around a shelf.  He sprints around the bookcase to find a second, smaller area between the furniture.  A familiar playpen sits in the center, and next to two small pillows is Papyrus.  He’s wearing the same red onesie as the day he disappeared, but otherwise seems no worse for wear.  “I was so worried,” Gaster murmurs, scooping him into his arms.

Papyrus looks up at him, then over his shoulder to his father, then back to Gaster.  He looks increasingly confused and upset, and begins to pat his own face in reassurance.

“Shh, it’s alright,” Gaster soothes, gently bouncing the baby in his arms, “I’ve got you.”

The imposter clears his throat.  “I apologize for borrowing your child containment space, but I’m sure you understand that I need it more than you do right now.”

“Of course,” Gaster says without commitment.  “May I ask where Sans is?”

“He’s grounded,” the man says, waving a hand as if this is of no consequence, “Until he learns to handle his responisibilities in ways other than running away with his brother.”

“Of course,” Gaster says with even less commitment.

Another moment passes before he speaks again.  “Well, as I was saying, welcome to my home.  This is the main laboratory, where you and I will conduct research the human soul specimen.”

“It’s… very functional,” Gaster says, holding Papyrus close as he continues to pat his own face.

“Thank you kindly, doctor.  Ah, where are my manners?  May I offer you something to drink before we get started?”

“Yes, thank you,” Gaster replies, jumping on the opportunity to see more of the base.  He follows the man down one corridor and into a room that serves as a fantastic example of how not to clean a kitchen: the counters are covered in food stains and leftovers, the sink is stacked high with dishes, and there are garbage bags piled up in the corner.  If he had a nose, Gaster is sure it would be unhappy.

“Please excuse the mess,” the man says absently, setting the water on the table and holding his arms out for Papyrus.

“Why don’t I put Papyrus down for a nap, so we can discuss the details of your work,” Gaster says, holding Papyrus tight to his chest.  “We don’t need a toddler getting underfoot for that.  I assume he has a designated sleeping area?”

After a moment of thought, the imposter agrees.  The nursery turns out to be one of the closed doors branching off from the main room; the man unlocks it and Gaster steps into what seems like an empty room.  There’s an off-white carpet, a crib, and one shelf with a few books; otherwise, the room is completely barren.

“This is certainly one type of nursery,” Gaster says to himself.

Luckily, the crib has a mattress and blankets.  He reluctantly tucks Papyrus in with a whispered promise to come back for him later.

Papyrus refuses to let go of Gaster’s coat.

“I know, I know,” Gaster says, tugging at Papyrus’ tiny hands, “But I have to find your brother before I can get you out of here.”

Papyrus whines as Gaster pries his fingers open.

“Shh,” he comforts.  He arranges the blankets into a circle and tucks Papyrus in at the center.  “I’ll be back soon.”

Gaster left home to pursue a career in science, leaving his family and familial obligations behind.  He’s participated in strategic war planning that involved dozens of human deaths, and he’s watched corporeal friends and colleagues wither from old age.  But none of these are as difficult as walking away from Papyrus as he whimpers to himself in an empty room.

-

 

-

Several hours listening to the man’s explanations later, Gaster manages to convince him that, as the guest, Gaster should be the one to make dinner this evening, and that even though he may be barred from leaving his room (apparently for any reason, including food up until this point), a merciful father would be willing to grant Sans his supper.

As such, Gaster manages to cobble together some sandwiches from stale bread and old condiments.  Sans’ room turns out to be another branching off the main room.  Unsurprisingly, the door is locked and requires several keys to open.  After some more cajoling, he manages to get the keys from the imposter and eases the door open with his elbow. 

The room shows only slightly more forethought than Papyrus’ nursery in that it has a desk in addition to shelves and a bed.  The shelves are filled with books, varying in subject from children’s literature to high-level scientific explanations.  There don’t seem to be any intermediary texts.  Sans is sitting on the bed, reading a book.  He looks up when the door opens and freezes when he sees Gaster standing there.

He’s also wearing the same clothes he disappeared in, but where Papyrus seems to have suffered no further injuries, Sans has a medical pad taped over one eye socket.

“Hi,” he says cautiously.

Gaster takes a breath to calm the emotions ricocheting in his chest.  “Hello, Sans,” Gaster replies, “Are you alright?”

Sans froms with what looks like distrust.  “How are you doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Changing your voice.  You sound like the other guy.”

The man in the next room can change his shape at will, of course Sans wouldn’t trust him at first.  “First, though I don’t expect you believe me at this time, I am not your father.  Second, I object to you calling me ‘the other guy’, but I see your point.  What happened to your eye?”

Sans shrugs and doesn’t answer.  He’s clearly taken up Gaster’s invitation to not believe him.

They watch each other.

“I brought sandwiches,” Gaster says, holding up the tray.  “I made sandwiches.”

Sans’ one visible eye narrows.

“This one is for you.  It’s mostly ketchup.”

“You could just ask me to get up,” Sans grumbles, marking the page in his book and setting it aside.

“What?”  _Sans refusing to eat dinner until he was certain the food wasn’t drugged—_ “Oh!  No, that isn’t what I meant at all,” Gaster says quickly, setting the tray on the bed, “What was it what was it— ah!  Point to any part of the sandwich, that’s right!”

Sans stares at him.  Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he extends an arm and touches the exact middle of the bread.

Gaster has to tear the sandwich in half to get at the middle, but manages to eat the indicated section.  The real struggle is getting past the knowledge he’s eating ketchup, but for Sans, he’ll do it.

“Dings?”  Sans asks faintly.

Gaster wipes a smear of hellish tomato from the corner of his mouth and gives a thumbs up.

Sans reaches out to touch Gaster’s arm.  When it doesn’t disappear under his hand, his visible eye wells up with tears.

Gaster opens his arms in invitation.  “May I offer— _oof._ ”

Sans collides with Gaster’s torso and grabs on with both hands.  “Dad didn’t catch you, did he? _”_

 “No,” Gaster replies, holding Sans tight to his chest, “I came with him to find you.  I’m going to get you out of here.”

“There’s no way out,” Sans says from where he’s pressed his face to Gaster’s sweater.

“There is, and I will find it.  I will get us out,” Gaster promises.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaster is stealthy, agile, and an excellent marksman, in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the radio silence, guys, I had some Real Life things going on. But! They've mostly been resolved, and things should be back to regular schedule for the foreseeable future.
> 
> Huge thanks to [spocksbedsidemanner](http://spocksbedsidemanner.tumblr.com/) who is an excellent beta reader/editor, and without whom this chapter wouldn't be nearly as interesting or grammatically correct.

On this list of things Gaster doesn’t like to do, _stealth_ ranks just below _lying_ and _deception_.  Luckily, he’s much more skilled at this one.  He takes a seat next to the imposter after dinner and starts a conversation about his work, asking questions about the nature of the blue human soul as he silently fishes the large keyring from his pocket.  It’s nerve-racking work, but Gaster manages to palm the keys up his sleeve without attracting attention.

In spite of his disingenuous pretense, Gaster finds himself absorbed in the imposter’s explanations.  His work, though gruesome, is fascinating; cobbling two functional monsters from bits and piece of incompatible souls is no small feat.  Under different circumstances, this man could have been a brilliant scientist.

“But you only took small samples of the two souls,” Gaster asks, skipping over the details of where those souls came from, “What did you do to fuse them together?”

The imposter grins widely and ushers Gaster into the maze of shelves.  He takes a series of twisting turns, chattering about the resilience of humanity.  “It’s a shame they’re trying to destroy us,” he says as they pass another series of intersections.

The space opens into the center area, which is dominated by the covered cylinder and the varied equipment standing guard over it.  The imposter takes a corner of the dropcloth and yanks it off, like a magician performing a trick.  Gaster is momentarily blinded by the blue glare.  He peers around his own arm at the human child’s soul, suspended in some kind of liquid-filled tank.

“I thought you took pieces of this?”  he asks.

“I did,” the imposter replies.  He’s looking at the soul with something close to reverence.  “It _healed._ ”

“What?”

“Let me explain: human bodies are slightly more durable than monster bodies because they expend energy on magic.  But their _souls_ are infinitely stronger!  I’ve taken enough from this one that it should be nonfunctional, but each time it would generate enough material to repair itself.”

He conjures his own soul in one hand.  Gaster gasps.  It’s battered and painfully torn, missing pieces along the edges.  Two sizeable fragments have been removed, leaving only two-thirds remaining.  What must have once been an impressive blue glow now pulses irregularly, giving off bursts of light between long moments of dimness.

“This is what the human soul should look like,” the imposter says, staring his own damaged soul.  “But it doesn’t.  The human soul combined with the pieces of mine to bring my sons to life.”

This man willing mutilated himself in the hopes of breaking the barrier.  Gaster shudders and averts his eyes.  He tightens his fingers around the keyring in his pocket.  Sans and Papyrus will not stay in this man’s custody for another day, he decides.  They leave tonight.

-

The only source of light is the blue soul.  It sits uncovered in its chamber, casting blue light over the various shelves.  Some of the more reflective items bounce the light back; otherwise, the room is murky and dark.

The path to the door is short if done in a straight shot, but Gaster and the children skirt around and behind furniture to avoid being in the open.  Sans is breathing quickly, but quietly.  Gaster doesn’t dare breathe at all.  Even Papyrus seems to understand the need for silence as they make their way across the room.

Finally, they reach the front door.  Gaster hands Papyrus to Sans, pulls the keyring from his pocket, and begins flipping through the numerous keys.  There must be more than a dozen, each unlabeled and barely distinguishable from the others.  The keys to Sans’ and Papyrus’ rooms were found through trial and error, so Gaster tries each one on the two front door keyholes, hoping to complete the process without drawing attention.

Five minutes later, none of the combinations have worked.

“What’s wrong?” Sans hisses.

Gaster’s mouth thins into a long, irritated line.  This was a completely predictably scenario.  The imposter sacrificed a scientific career and at least ten years of his life on the children and the human heart, of course getting out wouldn’t be as easy as grabbing the keys from his pocket.

From behind him, someone clears their throat.

Gaster turns around.

In the stress of the moment, he missed that one of the things reflecting the human soul’s blue glow was a pair of reading glasses, perched at the end of the imposter’s nose.  He’s sitting at one of the reading tables, pouring over one of the many stacks of paper that seems to live there.  It’s hard to tell in the dim light, but he seems amused.

“Having some difficulty there, Doctor?” the imposter asks.

Gaster pushes the children behind him.  “I’d like the keys.”

“And why would I give you those?”

“Because I’d like to leave.”

“And I suppose you intend to take my children with you?”

“I do.”

“I see.”  He closes a notebook and puts it to the side.  “Tell me, Doctor, what exactly gives you that right?”

“I don’t believe you’d understand my explanation,” Gaster replies.

The imposter removes his glasses and sets them on top of the notebook.  “No matter what your intentions were in coming here, this is your place now.  My sons’ destiny is to save monsterkind from this wretched cave system; yours is to help me prepare them for it.  I’m sure you understand why I cannot allow you to leave.”

“I’m equally sure you understand why I can’t stay.”

The man stands and steps away from the table.  He’s taller than when he first took his own shape, and his skin is beginning to take on an off-white color.  “Then we seem to have reached an impasse,” he says through teeth that are now longer and sharper than his own.

Gaster throws both the children and himself behind the closest shelf as the imposter tries to grab his soul with a blue grip.  Papyrus lets out a sharp cry as the shelf turns blue and books begin to fly in every direction.

“Hide!” Gaster yells over the deafening sounds of books hitting the walls and floor.

“He’s going to kill you!” Sans shouts back.

Papyrus wails.

“I won’t allow that,” Gaster says, steering both himself and Sans around the corner as another shelf’s contents explode into the room, “I’m still going to get us out of here.  But to do that, I need to know that you’re safe.  I wouldn’t have a reason to leave if anything happened to you.”

Sans is staring at him again.  He seems to be developing a habit.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” Gaster says over the din.

Sans clutches Gaster’s shirt with one hands and holds Papyrus close with the other.  “Don’t die, okay?”

“I won’t,” Gaster promises.  He squeezes Sans shoulder, then pushes him towards his room.

Gaster has been in exactly three fights.  Two were due to misunderstandings, and the third was when the Royal Institution wanted to see if his new body would still work for testing purposes.  While his overall shape was reminiscent of a human, the magic he carried over from his ghost form made him unsuitable for anti-human combat training.  Not being able to help the war effort was a disappointment.  But now, as purple energy forms between his palms and spins into long strands between his fingers, Gaster is quite pleased with how things turned out.

He dives out from behind the shelf just as it explodes, sending papers and wooden shards hurtling into the room; Gaster catches some of the debris in a hastily-spun web and hurls them back as he dashes for new cover.  The imposter gives a dog-like yelp.  He appears to have shifted into an enormous bipedal white dog with pointed ears.  Gaster recognizes the form as one of the guards who covered the library crime scene after Sans and Papyrus were kidnapped.  The imposter has clearly chosen physical prowess over agility in this fight.  That, Gaster strategizes as he follows the lines of magic back to the imposter’s chest, might be what keeps him alive.

He throws out a purple line, aiming for the concentration of magic that hopefully contains his soul, but the imposter knocks the line aside with an enormous arm.  Gaster’s accuracy is his best attribute, but his threads are brittle on their own; this one breaks upon contact and flutters to the ground.  The imposter snarls and hefts a table over his shoulders in retaliation and hurls it across the room.  Gaster throws himself to the side; the table smashes against the floor where he was standing, splintering into thousands of sharp pieces.  His brain begins calculating the force of the impact (and if it would have outright killed him, or simply mangled his body enough for the imposter to catch him--), but he shoves the thoughts away and sprints into the maze of bookshelves for cover.

They volley back and forth as they wind through the narrow space between shelves.  The imposter decimates anything Gaster uses as a shield, leaving the furniture in shambles; Gaster throws back what he can, but hasn’t been able to snag the imposter’s soul.  They around each other, Gaster running ahead at each opportunity and the imposter slowly stalking after him.

Gaster ducks behind another shelf and finds himself in the open space made for the human soul and its monitoring equipment.  He sprints to the center, vaulting over the machinery and scooting behind the bubbling container.  Hopefully, the soul’s sparkling glow will hide Gaster long enough for him to form a strategy.

The imposter comes crashing around the same shelf a moment later, carrying one of the tables as an impromptu shield and leaving long gouges on the floor as his claws skid and dig into the tiles.  Gaster watches as he sniffs the air with his newly canine nose.  That, he reflects, is probably how the imposter has managed to track him so closely.

“I know you’re here,” the imposter says.

Gaster thinks it would be beyond foolish to reply, so he doesn’t.

“Well, I know you’re close,” the imposter corrects himself “I don’t know exactly where you are, but that makes this so much more _exciting_ , don’t you think?”

He begins to move through the area.  Gaster edges around the tank, keeping it between him and the man who is currently an eight-foot-tall dog with superior teeth and senses.

“Think of all we could have accomplished together, Doctor,” the imposter says as he stalks towards a control panel, “I hoped you would be able to put your emotions aside for the greater good, but I can see that was asking too much.”

Gaster takes the opportunity to slide behind a piece of machinery on the opposite side of the tank.  He watches as the imposter sets down the table so it shields the panel, then starts fiddling with the computers.  Gaster leans as far out of his hiding spot as he dares, but can’t get a clear shot.

“Do you know why I made the boys instead of taking the soul myself?”  the imposter says as he continues to input commands into the console.  “I wanted to have a backup plan in case I couldn’t complete the assignment.  Human bodies are fragile, but their souls seem able to replenish themselves almost limitlessly.”

The soul dims slightly.  The various monitors beep a quick warning, then go silent.  Something hisses, and a piece of the containment unit begins to slide open.

“I can’t risk you going to the authorities with this information, Doctor.”  He reaches into the opening and carefully removes the soul from its container.  Its illuminates the small space.  “Besides, I’ve always been curious about the world on the other side of the—”

The table is jerked out of the way.

The imposter spins around, looking for the cause.

Gaster summons a fistful of strings and pitches them directly at the imposter.  They wrap around his wrists and pull both defending arms away from his chest—

“ _No!”_

Several make contact with his soul.  It momentarily lights up in its natural blue (dimmer than the human soul, Gaster notes), then floods with purple as Gaster’s magic takes hold.  Gaster braids the strands connecting his hands to the imposter’s soul and _pulls._

The imposter collapses to his knees.  He thrashes against the purple magic, howling and lunging at the monster holding him down.  He shifts into Lieutenant Donahue, into his own form, into something even larger and more intimidating than the royal guard Gaster fought, each form lasting just a moment before he discards it and moves on to the next, creating a hideous amalgam state between each.  Gaster watches him struggle.  The hatred in his chest, carried since this man first invaded his house and told him how Sans and Papyrus came into the world, slides aside just enough for a wisp of pity to come through.  Gaster observes it, but doesn’t act on it.

Instead, he throws out a line for the dead human soul, pulsing silently on the floor where it was thrown in the imposter’s struggle.  It fits easily in his palm.  To someone else, the color might be considered beautiful.

Gaster considers the human soul in his hand, the man at the end of his magic, and the endless list of crimes this man has committed in the name of integrity.  People’s lives have been ruined.  Sans’ eyepatch.  Papyrus’ fear of being left alone.  Something vicious stirs in Gaster’s chest.  The secondary poison inherent in his magic begins to leach into the imposter’s soul.

The imposter hisses as his health points begin to burn away.  “This isn’t over,” he snarls.

Gaster doesn’t answer.

“This doesn’t end until I _say_ it ends!”

He tightens the strands between his fingers until the tension makes his arm shake.  The imposter grits his teeth and begins to tremble.

“ _Stop!”_

Gaster startles out of his own thoughts as Sans comes hurdling out from behind a shelf.  He throws himself into Gaster’s mid-section and throws both arms around him.  “Don’t kill him,” he begs.

“Sans,” Gaster says quietly, “This man will never stop looking for you.  Do you understand?  He wants to turn you into a human-killing machine, he wants to turn _Papyrus_ into a human-killing machine, and he won’t stop until that happens.”

The blue soul casts streaks of illumination over Sans’ face when he looks up.  They catch on the gauze taped over his right eye and the watery tears welling in the left.  “He’s my _dad._ ”

Gaster looks at the undersized child clinging to his waist.  He looks at the wretched man caught in his web, and the human soul stolen from a murdered human child in his hand.  He takes a deep breath and thinks about his home: a playpen in the sitting room, kitchen cabinets stocked with baby food and ketchup, toys strewn about as they wait for two children to come back.  Gaster lets the breath out slowly and feels himself settle.

“I’m sorry,” he says, storing the soul in his inventory so he can wrap the other arm around Sans, “I almost got carried away.”

“I want to go home,” Sans says.

Gaster pulls him in for a proper embrace.  “Okay.”

-

The imposter apparently keeps the front door keys on a necklace, separate from the others on the ring.  It takes some concentration to fish it out and keep him pinned down while Sans goes for help, but somehow, when Lieutenant Donahue comes charging shield first down the ladder, both Gaster and the imposter are alive and no further harmed.  He gladly releases the imposter into Donahue’s custody, and gives a rough outline of the situation as other guards investigate the underground laboratory and process the imposter’s arrest.  Sans keeps Gaster between himself and his father through the process, holding Papyrus close.

Donahue whistles.  “Never would have suggested this if I’d known it’d put you in the middle of a fight,” she says, punching Gaster’s shoulder.

Gaster rubs the punch site with his opposite hand.  “I must admit, the possibility did cross my mind, but I was prepared for it.”

She looks over Gaster’s shoulder at Sans.  He’s staring at the ladder as the guards escort the imposter back to the royal facility, and he’s gripping the back of Gaster’s shirt tightly with his free hand.  “Guess some things are worth fighting for,” she agrees.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A family in snapshots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned until the end for an important announcement!

The imposter (no name on record) is held in the Royal Guard headquarters in the capital city for a day, then transferred to the Hotland detention center for further processing.  He isn’t tried for murder because crimes against humans aren’t part of the monster justice system, but he is convicted on felony child abuse via negligence, cruelty, maltreatment physical injury requiring medical treatment.  The proceedings are done quietly to keep attention off of Sans and Papyrus, who would face consequences if knowledge of their human origins became public.  The imposter is sentenced to one third lifetime imprisonment which, after some surprisingly difficult research, is impossible to set due to his indeterminate species origin.  The court decides on thirty years of incarceration.

“That’s not long enough,” Sans says after Gaster does his best to explain the situation.

“No, it isn’t,” Gaster agrees, “But it’s long enough that you’ll be more than strong enough to defend yourselves by the time he gets out.”

Sans looks at Papyrus, who is sitting in his playpen with a teething ring in his mouth.  “And we get to stay here, right?”

“The courts ruled that I have custody of you until you come of age.”

He looks back to Gaster, who gets the distinct feeling he’s being sized up.  Sans is still wearing a bandage over one eye socket.  The medical reports say he may never fully regain binocular vision.  It makes Gaster feel a rare desire for revenge.

“Donahue and Gerald will also be around,” Gaster points out instead of following the thread of vengeance.  “And in thirty years, you’ll be an adult, beholden to no one.”

“I guess,” Sans reluctantly agrees.  He seems to continue mulling the situation over. 

Gaster waits patiently.

“You came for us,” Sans says after another long pause, “I want to stay with you.”

Papyrus makes a pleased humming noise from his pen.

“That’s good,” Gaster says, “Because I’d like it very much if you stayed.”

-

Gerald helps remodel Gaster’s rooms.  It takes a few days (and several arguments over unassembled furniture instructions), but by the end of the week he’s transformed his office into a working-space-slash-bedroom.  His old bedroom becomes a safe place for two skeleton children to grow up, complete with a bed and a crib (ready to be upgraded to a second bed as Papyrus grows), a desk, shelves for Sans’ rotating collection of library books, and a closet filled with clothes.

Sans, holding Papyrus in his arms, wanders in as Gaster finishes hanging up the last of the clothes.  The eyepatch has been removed and Sans reports that he can see almost as well as before the incident, but his right eye socket no longer glows when Sans accesses his magic.  

He looks over the various pieces of clothing spread across the bed.  “They’re all different,” he says, in a tone that suggests he doesn’t understand the situation.

“It’s so you can wear what you want,” Gaster explains, threading a shirt onto a coat hanger.

“Huh.”

Sans continues to watch him work.  After installing two shirts on hangers and moving them into the closet, Gaster gets the impression Sans wants to talk about something, but is apprehensive about asking.

“Was there something you needed?”  He asks to save them both some time.

“Yeah, actually.  I wanted to ask you something.”  Sans bounces Papyrus in his arms to get his attention, then points at Gaster with his free hand.  “Hey, Pap, who’s that?”

Papyrus looks at Gaster.  He breaks out into a wide smile and points at him.  “Da!”

Gaster, who has a children’s-sized shirt in one hand and a coat hanger in the other, is completely taken aback by this development.

“Doctor Snowdrake and I talked about what happened,” Sans says, as though his baby brother isn’t giggling over Gaster’s reaction to abruptly becoming a father, “And I think it’s best if Papyrus doesn’t know about our dad until he’s older.  Maybe until he’s grown up, even.”  He shoves his free hand into his pocket.  “So that means he needs a new dad.”

Sans clears his throat.

“And I figured hey, we’re already living with an adult who cares about what we want and treats us with respect.  That’s like a dad, right?”

Gaster sets down the shirt and the coat hanger and crosses the room.  He kneels down on the carpet so he’s closer to Sans’ height, and puts one hand on each child’s shoulder.  And he smiles.

“Yes, I suppose it is,” he agrees.  “Does that make you my sons?”

Sans considers this for a moment.  Papyrus reaches out and pats Gaster’s face with a grin.  “Yeah,” he says, sounding more than a little choked up, “I guess it does.”

Gaster holds out a formal hand.  “Hello then, sons.”

Sans takes it and shakes.  The formality is ruined by how wide he’s smiling.  “Hey there, dad.”

“Dah,” Papyrus agrees.

-

After the secret underground lab is cleared out and the children’s meager possessions are returned, Sans lends Gaster his books on child development.  He supplements them with materials on child-rearing from the library.  Alphys graciously helps Gaster find resources.  Gaster asks after his well being, and they end up talking about the ordeal over lunch in Alphys’ office.

Alphys privately shares that Aubrey is staying with her mother for the time being.  “I can’t blame her,” he confides over coffee, “After what that man did while wearing my face, it’s no wonder she doesn’t want to be around me right now.”

Gaster warms his hands on the coffee mug.  He’s had so much coffee over the past month, he’s begun to develop an unfortunate liking of it.

“D-did you get custody of Sans and Papyrus,” Alphys asks.

“I did.  I also seem to have earned the ‘dad’ title.”

“That’s wonderful!  Congratulations, D-doctor.”

“Please,” Gaster says, “After everything that’s happened, ‘doctor’ seems to formal.  Call me Gaster.”

“Then I’ll have to ask you to call me Hector,” Alphys says with a smile.

They let the conversation dwindle, sitting in comfortable silence.

“How are they d-doing?” Alphys asks.

It’s a complicated question.  Gaster chooses his words carefully.  “Doctor Snowdrake is meeting with Sans once a week.  She believes any trauma will emerge in time.”

Alphys nods as he digests this.  “Would she happen to have any recommendations for child therapists in Hotland?”

“I’ll be sure to ask her.”

The quiet resumes.  It’s less comfortable now.

This time, Gaster is the one to break it.  “This isn’t your fault.”

“You don’t know that,” Alphys says, speaking into his mug.

“There is nothing you could have done.”

“I could have d-done something,” Alphys says quietly.  “I  _ should _ have d-done something.”

“What could you have done?”

“Something.  Anything!  Anything that would have kept my baby girl away from that  _ man _ .”

Gaster, who now understands the weight of caring for children, takes the mug from Alphys’ trembling hands.  “Hector,” he says gently, “When was the last time you spoke with your wife?”

“I d-don’t know, a few weeks ago.”  He wrings he hands.  “I haven’t been able to face her.”

“Have you spoken with anyone about this?”

Alphys sighs.  “No.”

Gaster catches his hands and holds them still.  “Why do you want Aubrey to see a therapist?”

Alphys’ hands stop, but he avoids eye contact and clearly wants to continue fidgeting.  “So she can talk to someone about what she’s been through.”

“Why wouldn’t you extend yourself the same courtesy?”

Alphys finally looks up.  Tears have leaked past the rims of his new glasses.  He looks absolutely heart broken.  “Because I d-don’t d-deserve it.”

Gaster holds Alphys’ hands with both of his own.  “I don’t think you get to decide that.”

They speak quietly about  _ anxiety _ and  _ being a victim _ and  _ what people do and don’t deserve _ .  In the end, Alphys agrees to one session with a local therapist specializing in trauma counseling.  After the first appointment, he agrees to another.  Three months later, he gets milkshakes with Aster and Aubrey for the first time since his abduction.  Twenty years later, Aubrey begins work at the Royal Laboratory.

-

Donahue starts wandering into Gaster's office when she's between shifts at the royal lab.  She's donated various coffee blends to Project Ghost Brew, which is what she calls her continuing efforts to educate Gaster on caffinated drinks.  The results are mixed, and the other members of the royal guard soon know where to get a free pot of good coffee.  Gaster's office becomes an unofficial break-room right around the time Papyrus takes an interest in talking. 

He watches each guard with undisguised fascination.  Sans says he's taking in different kinds of speech.  Gaster doesn't know enough about infants to determine whether that's true or not.  Today, Papyrus is sitting on Gaster's lap as he reworks some equations.  Two guards, the enormous white dog and a smaller, spotted dog have brewed a pot of half-city roast and set up at the small table set up for exactly this kind of situation, while Sans reads on the couch.  He doesn't make contact with the various people who have decided Gaster's office is a good place to spend their breaks, but he also doesn't shy away from them anymore, which Gaster sees as a huge step towards socialization.

“...and then we kicked down the door,” the spotted dog says with a laugh, “And there's the farmer, paintbrush in hand, writing numbers on a snail.  He had the nerve to say he was numbering them so he could tell if one ran off!”

“Ran off,” Papyrus repeats.

The huge dog gives a high-pitched bark and wags his tail.

“So I ask if this guys expects me to believe that.  He nods like he's come up with the smartest thing anyone's ever heard!”  He smacks his leg with a laugh, “I didn't anyone was that dumb, but this guy was dumb as  _ shit.” _

“Dumb as shit!” Papyrus chirps.

The dogs choke on their coffee.  Sans' eyelights wink out.  A wide smile stretches over his face.  Gaster notes that he seems to have picked up Donahue's habit of grinning in place of more complicated facial expressions.

“Sorry,” the spotted dog mutters as Sans puts down his book and stalks to Gaster's makeshift office pantry.

Sans returns with an empty coffee can and a marker.  He scrawls something, then places the can on the table.  It now reads  _ Swear Jar _ in large, serif-less letters.

“You're kidding,” the dog says.

Sans wordlessly, repeatedly taps the can against the table.  His eye sockets are still hollow, and he's still baring his teeth in what could be called an openly hostile grin.

The dog's ears fold back against his head.  He digs through his pockets and comes up with two gold pieces that go into the jar.

“Thank you,” Sans says without moving his mouth.

That week, a wave of clean language sweeps throughout the facility.  Vending machine profit dips, and Papyrus is seen carrying a small toy owl through the halls.

-

“You can’t do a simulation because there’s nothing to base it on,” says Sans, age ten.

“I can assure you it is.  Calipers, please.”

“It is  _ not, _ ” Sans insists as he hands over the compass, “Determination isn’t like anything else.  There’s no way to predict what it will do because we have  _ no idea what it will do.” _

“I don’t plan to offer up a definitive prediction, I plan to run the simulation on different variables, thereby showing the  _ range _ of possibilities,” Gaster replies.  He handles the calipers with extreme precision to make sure his irritation with this old argument doesn’t bleed into his measurements.

“How are you going to cover all the possibilities?  You’ll have to take them all into account, which  _ isn’t possible. _ ”

“Gentlemen,” Gerald says.

“I plan to choose the most likely candidates and run tests on those, then compile the data and run it all together.”

“Do you have any idea how much work that’s going to be?  You’re going to be putting that much time into this hypothetical project when you could be spending it on, I don’t know¸ running  _ actual _ tests to determine the properties of synethetic determination?”

“You know that it’s too volatile, Sans.  There’s no need to take risks like this.”

“ _ Gentlemen,” _ Gerald interupts firmly, setting Papyrus, age three and a half, on a clear spot on the workbench.

“ _ What,” _ Gaster and Sans snap back.

Gerald sets a large children’s book on the table in front of Papyrus.  “Show them what you just showed me,” he encourages.

Papyrus squints at the letters.  “One…”  He says, pointing at the first word of the first sentence, “Day?  In the big g—r, reen woods, Fluffy Bunny wan, want…”

“Wanted,” Sans says quietly.  He’s drifts along the table so he can read over Papyrus’ shoulder.

“I can do it!”  Papyrus insists, pushing Sans hand away from the page.  “Wanted to p-play a.”  He frowns in concentration for a moment, then his face lights up.  “Game!  Wanted to play a game!”

“Good job, buddy,” Sans says, affectionately bumping his head against Papyrus’.  He meets Gaster’s eye and gives a lazy smile.

Gaster returns the smile.  The argument seems so small in comparison to Papyrus’ first successful reading.  He sets the calipers and notebook to the side to watch the boys sound out the words on the next page.

Gerald also watches.  He looks equally fond.  He’s an excellent arbitrator and, Gaster supposes, part of this family.

-

Despite the doomsday predictions levied by the computer-based departments, the year 2000 passes without any major technological breakdown.  The big change doesn't come until September, when Papyrus starts kindergarten.

“Got your lunch?”  Sans asks.

“Yes.”

“Books?”  Gaster asks.

“Yes,” Papyrus says, watching the other children file past the gate into the school.

“Card with all the phone numbers written down?”  Sans asks.  He once attempted a few days of school, but found that the noise and commotion made him nervous.  Combined with the fact that he can already teach most university-level science courses, Doctor Snowdrake had decided homeschooling would be the best for Sans.  

Papyrus, on the other hand, has been looking forward to this day since he saw an after-school special on TV a year ago.  “ _ Yes _ , I have everything I could possibly need,” he says, stomping his foot in impatience.  “Can I go now?”

“Alright,” Gaster says before Sans can ask more questions.  “Have a good first day, Papyrus, we'll be here to pick you up after class.”

Papyrus is already halfway across the parking lot.  “Okay, thank you, I love you, _ bye.” _

“Watch the traffic,” Sans calls, “And make sure you're shoes are tied.  And—”

“ _ Thank you I love you bye.” _

Papyrus joins the crowd of five-year-olds being escorted into the building.  Gaster puts a sympathetic hand on Sans' shoulder.  “This is hard,” he says.

“I don't like it,” Sans agrees, watching as Papyrus disappears past the gate.

Gaster pats him on the back.  “Do you want to work help me organize the lab when we get back?”  He offers.

Sans doesn't answer.  

“You promised Doctor Snowdrake you'd let him do this by himself,” Gaster reminds him.

“She doesn't have to know,” Sans says, glaring at the school entrance.

Gaster feels something soft unfold in his chest.  He smiles and gently pulls Sans away from the school.  “Come on, Papyrus will be fine and we have work to do.”

Sans reluctantly allows himself to be steered away.

-

“Hold still,” Sans says, carefully marking the door frame.

“I'm trying,” Papyrus grumbles.  It’s his eighth birthday, and they’re doing the annual Height Measurement ritual.  He vibrates impatiently as Sans, age fifteen, finishes.  “What's taking so long?”

“I gotta get this right, buddy.  Can't make any mistakes at  _ tall.” _

Papyrus groans dramatically.  “I can’t wait for you to finish this ridiculous pun phase.”

There are two sets of marks on the frame, one in red, the other in blue.  The blue marks start out higher, but the red marks have definitely begun to catch up.  Sans steps back to evaluate the data. 

“It's official.”  He taps the most recent mark, which is a fraction of an inch higher up the wall than the corresponding blue one.  “You're taller than me.”

“ _ Yes!” _  Papayrus says, running in place with both hands in the air, “Finally  _ I _ am the big brother!”

“You sure are,” Sans says, rubbing Papyrus' head, “Now you can carry me around.”

As the years go on, Gaster has to start marking Papyrus' height because Sans is too short.  The blue marks approach and finally stop just above four feet, while the red ones continue to shoot upwards towards six feet.  Papyrus does start to carry Sans around as their height difference increases.  By the time Papyrus reaches his teen years, Gaster has to stand on a step stool to get an accurate measurement.

-

Papyrus graduates from high school at age eighteen.  He wears a blue gown with gold trim (the Capital City East’s colors) and receives his degree from the king himself.  Asgore shakes his hands as he hands him the papers.  Papyrus looks star struck.

His entire family is in the audience: Sans and Donahue, holding a sign between them that reads  _ SKELE-BEST _ ; Aubrey, who has started going by her father’s last name and is in the second year of her second master’s degree, has allowed Sans to sit on her shoulders for better height; Gerald, who is waving at least seven pennants in his dozens of hands; and Gaster, sixteen years older and the same physical age as always, waving two flags of his own and using his two backup hands to add to the applause.  Everyone is cheering.  Papyrus grins widely and holds up his diploma for them to see.

Donahue holds the sign with one hand and uses the other to whistle over the roar of the crowd.  She has years of battle scars across her arms, and rose to the position of Captain before retiring several years ago.  She elbows Gaster to get his attention.  “Hey.”

“Hello,” Gaster says.

She nods up at the stage, where Papyrus is finally going down the exit stairs.  “He made it.”

“He did,” Gaster agrees.

The takes their seats as the next students comes on stage and their family takes up the cheering.  “Couldn’t have done it without you,” Donahue says.

Gaster watches as Papyrus sits with the rest of his class in the  _ G _ section.  He waving sheepishly at Sans, who is still making thumbs-up gestures his way.  “He could have,” Gaster says, “But I’m glad he didn’t have to.”

Doctor W.D. Gaster has two sons, ages eighteen and twenty-five.  He likes to say he found them in a bush, but in in truth, he knows they were the ones who found him.  Papyrus is planning to take some time to figure out what he wants to do.  Sans officially began his employment with the Royal Laboratory several years ago, and has recently been speaking with King Asgore himself about security of the human souls.

Life is different now, but better.  Gaster politely claps for the student on stage.

-

Two years later, the imposter escapes from jail.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, and thanks for reading Baby Spinach! This is the end of this arc, and there will be one more after this (tentatively called Kale) that explains how this fic fits in with the Undertale source material! I'll be taking a short hiatus to get some things done and get organized, so the next fic will start on **May 19th**.
> 
> Questions/comments/etc, feel free to shoot me a message here or on one of my tumblrs: [katan-a-rama](katan-a-rama.tumblr.com) or [Spinach Productions](spinach-productions.tumblr.com)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	12. TEMP CHAPTER

Hello everyone!

I had a request to post a chapter on Baby Spinach when the new fic went live, so here I am! The next and last installment in the series is called _Kale_ and is now on my ao3 page. Enjoy!


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